Picture this: What if there was
a researcher/reporter whose current job was the only way she could make ends meet
after her own plans for the future went spiraling out of control. And what if
she was handed one of, if not the largest story of the year? Dealing with a failed
Naval mission that resulted in the deaths of many, many people. What if her main
source of information was the leader of the Navy unit involved, who also happened
to be blamed by almost every paper and form of media in the United States? What
if this story slowly started becoming important to her, or more importantly, what
if she found yourself becoming friends with the Navy Commander? What if someone
else didn't want her to crack this story? What would they do? What would she do?
What would you do? This is Commander Dean Ransom's and reporter Ranelle Maloch's
story.

A
Soldier's Peace

By S.B. Zarben

zarben314@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: This is an
Uber story, and although the main characters resemble two certain ladies, that
is where the resemblance ends. The story and characters are mine, and although
it takes place in Dallas, all of the locations are fake and created by my imagination.
There is a Naval base in San Diego, however I have never been there and the
base is my own creation as well. Any resemblance to the base in San Diego, persons
in the Navy, or real eventsthat took place is purelycoincidental.

Language Disclaimer: Let's
see... um, there are some things that may be considered offensive... the characters
aren't belting them out as every second word in a sentence, though. Real people
do swear so my characters swear. I do try to avoid it but, unfortunately, there
is sometimes no better way to have someone express emotion than with 'bad' language.

Emotional Disclaimer: This
story could be classified as hurt/comfort in some areas. This story does deal
with war and the effects that it can have on a person. There are some scenes
of war and death, and if this type of thing bothers you then I suggest you find
something else to read. You have been warned.

Violence Disclaimer: Yes,
there are guns, knives, perhaps a few bombs. Some fighting scenes and other
scenes dealing with war. Nothing too terribly graphic, I guess it depends on
your imagination.

Accuracy Disclaimer: I
don't claim to know a lot about computers - just how to use 'em - or the workings
of the Navy. So, if you spot some big, huge, glaring mistake, that goes against
all the rules of computers or such, just chalk it up to Creative License. Yep,
just ignore it or something. Or you could pretend that it says what it's supposed
to say. ;) Thanks.

Author's Note: For those
of you who may be familiar with my first story Revolutionary, you can rest assured
that I am definitely going to write a sequel. As a few gracious readers informed
me, without a sequel Revolutionary isn't finished. I agree. You'll have to be
patient, though, I have a few other ideas I need to get written down first.

Death has a stench, kind of sour
and foul, with the metallic tang of blood and decay mixed in.

There is death all around you.
Its cause came raining down from the sky or ambushed you from the trees. Maybe
it surprised you and came up from the ground, hidden, until you stepped in just...
the right place. Or in this case, the wrong place.

If you're lucky, it comes fast
and takes you swiftly. If you aren't, then you are left to lie there, among
your friends and die slowly, painfully, listening to your comrades yells and
seeing them fall all around you.

You hurt. You don't remember
ever hurting this much before, and as the world starts to slowly fade away,
you wonder how it's possible to be in this much pain and still be alive. You're
stuck on the ground. There's something on top of you, but you don't know what
it is. It might be a body, an old friend, or maybe a tree-- that would be preferable.
It's hard to see, so you're left with only sound. But that's okay, you wouldn't
like what you would have seen anyway.

It seems cruel, to go this way,
but you knew what you were getting yourself into when you accepted this position.
You wanted to help people, maybe try to make a little bit of a difference. You
were a fool, you realize that now.

The battle is slowing now, and
you idly wonder if there is anyone left. Anyone who may see you and decide to
release you from this agony. The chances of one of your own still being alive
are slim. So maybe one of the people who had attacked you in the first place.
Perhaps they would start sifting through the garbage and decide to finish you
off.

Not out of pity. No. You don't
want their pity. Just relief from the nightmare that is your mind. You're stuck
with it, and all its half-crazy musings. A captive audience. You just want it
to stop.

Then, as the surroundings slowly
start to drift back towards their natural silence, and the denizens of the forest
start to reemerge, a single, solitary gunshot echoes throughout the carnage.

No one is left in a condition
to hear the whirring blades of a helicopter. Surley, it was to have been their
rescue.

******************

10 MONTHS LATER

The dominant sound in the medium
sized cafe was the tapping of several keyboards. Patrons were sitting scattered
around the different tables, drinking coffee, eating, and carrying out some
sort of activity on a computer. The cafe featured many different computers that
customers could use, after paying for a certain amount of time. However, not
all of the people were occupied with a machine. In fact, seeing as it was one
in the afternoon on a Monday, only a few people had the time required to get
involved in something on the addictive machines.

If you listened carefully, you
would be able to hear strident cursing coming from one of the most private corners
of the establishment. The current waitress noticed the woman seated by herself
and smiled slightly. She headed over to one of her regular customers to see
why she was currently damning every god and divine being known to man, since
this particular woman only swore when extremely ticked off.

The waitress stopped next to
her customer and friend and waited for the young woman to notice her audience.
Slowly, the cursing wound down and finally stopped. Sheepish eyes rose to meet
the chocolate brown ones of the waitress. "Hey Stacey, what's up?"

"Ranelle, what on earth
has got you sooo ticked off?" The woman at the computer grinned and lowered
her head, golden tresses falling over her shoulders.

"Sorry if I was bothering
anyone. I'm trying to finish off this stupid program for my computer design
class final. It's the only course I have left to complete, you know. I just
can't seem to get this stupid line coded right..." Ranelle pointed and
Stacey immediately started shaking her head.

"Whoa, girl. Don't try and
talk computers with me. I am completely ignorant on the subject. I'd help if
I could. Why don't you talk to one of your classmates or something?"

"No, I can't do that. This
should be easy for me, I'd feel stupid asking one of them for help. Besides,
the professor was very clear about this final project. He said he didn't want
anyone talking to anyone else about it. Then he started that mumbling thing,
and all I caught were the words 'stealing' 'expulsion' 'failing' and 'idea'.
Not necessarily in that order." Ranelle grinned but was privately ecstatic
about this class being almost over. Without taking this class Ranelle would
never be able to get a job in the computer design or security fields. Which
had both always been her passion. It wasn't her fault that she didn't finish
it off in Universtiy. Ranelle had been set to be done and ready for employment
after five years in University. Then things had gotten sticky with her family,
not to mention her hometown. So, she had taken the only option left open to
her. She had picked up and moved, as far away as she could and still be sure
that surviving wouldn't be an immediate problem. From Everett, Washington to
Dallas, Texas. Ranelle had been attending school in Seattle, just south of Everett.
And when everything in her life got to the point of Hell in a Handbasket, Ranelle
hadn't hesitated to bolt. The young woman had found a relative whom she was
on good terms with and was the farthest away from her small town. Unfortuntely,
that cut into Ranelle's school plans and she never got a chance to finish two
of her classes.

Ranelle had ended up with her
Uncle Amark. For the first couple of months she lived with him and her cousin
Amanda. Amark gave Ranelle a job at his magazine office as a researcher, seeing
as a lot of his employee's were computer illiterate. She had also written a
few columns for the magazine, her youthful and optimistic view giving her a
unique spin on many different topics. The young woman also had a canny ability
for getting facts from certain people that no one else could. Or getting reluctant
subjects to actually talk to the reporter and not curse them out.

Ranelle had gotten together enough
money to move into a place of her own after one year with her uncle. Now, after
four years, she was finishing her schooling, held the same job her uncle had
supplied only with slightly better pay, and had moved from a tiny rat infested
apartment to a nice one bedroom in a better part of the city. Uncle Amark paid
well, not to mention the fact that he hadn't charged her rent while she was
living with him. Ranelle had often freelanced her talents to friends she had
made during her time in Dallas. They paid well for her to design a site or secure
their computer.

Now, finally, her life was starting
to look like what it was supposed to forty-eight months ago. If only she could
get this stupid line coded properly she was sure she would finish the course
with flying colors and obtain her degree in computer science.

"Hey Ranelle! Yoo-who, where
did you go off to?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking
about things." Ranelle shook her head and turned determined green eyes
back to the computer screen.

"Listen, girl. When is this
thing due?"

"Why? I thought you couldn't
help. Next week, Wednesday."

Stacey started nodding her head
and smiled. "Okay, great. I'm going out with a bunch of friends on Friday
night. Carly will be there, she's all into computers. I'm sure you'll be able
to ask her."

Ranelle narrowed suspicious eyes
at her friend. 'Is she trying to set me up? Oh, I think she is! Stacey, Stacey,
when will you learn?' "I don't know Stace."

"Come on Ranelle. When was
the last time you were out, girlie? It's not heal-thy!" Stacey said the
last bit in a singsong voice. "Please," Stacey whined. "I promise
you, I'm not setting you up. I swear, cross my heart." Stacey finished
by crossing her fingers across her heart and plastering a winning smile on her
face.

Ranelle threw her hands up into
the air in a gesture of defeat. "Fine, okay, I'll go." Ranelle closed
down her computer and ejected the disk, tucking in into her purse. She closed
up her laptop, preferring to use it instead of the cafe computers. Ranelle stood,
and looked at her curly-headed friend. "I have to go, Stace. I'll see you
on Friday if not before. Oh, where are we going."

"Don't worry I'll see you
before Friday. Just come here for seven, 'kay?"

Ranelle nodded and moved out
of the cafe. She exited through the door and headed back to the magazine office.
Upon her arrival, Ranelle hardly had enough time to put her belongings on her
desk before she received an urgent message from Uncle Amark. As soon as Ranelle
opened the door she was struck with how absolutely excited her uncle was. When
he saw her at the door, the slender man stopped his energetic pacing and a huge
grin split his face. "Ranelle, come in, come in. Sit."

Ranelle moved further into the
office and sat down in one of the large stuffed chairs facing her uncle's oak
desk. Amark finally managed to compose himself enough to sit still in his chair
and start explaining his happiness to his niece. "Okay, listen to me very
carefully. Do you remember, about ten months back, the newspapers and everything
exploded with something that happened in the Middle East with our Army and Navy?"

When his niece only gave a hesitant
nod Amark jumped into a detailed explanation. "Well, I'll tell you as much
as I know. Which is everything that was released into the papers. Ten months
ago, tensions in the Middle East flared up again and started getting violent.
The US figured it would go in with more of its armed forces to try and hold
everything together. Now, about three weeks in was when the real trouble started.
There was a special team of Navy soldiers who were stationed at a classified
base. Their purpose was also classified. They were the only one's there besides
the usual support personnel who need to run any machinery in the base. All I
know is that one day the entire base was attacked. With what or by whom, I have
no clue, but the building and three acres of land in all directions from it
were incinerated. There were about 22 people in the Navy team and another 11
support personnel and such in the base. It was a complete disaster. Reports
on exactly what happened are very sketchy, because, well, only 15 people survived
out of the 33 there. All of the support personnel got out and only four of the
Navy sailors." Amark paused and looked at his niece, "Is any of this
ringing a bell? Ranelle?"

Ranelle shook her head, dislodging
the thoughts of horror and bloodshed. "Yeah, a little. What happened?"

"Obviously, the support
personnel weren't a lot of help. All they could tell you was how they got out.
Which was, of course, with the help of the Navy. Most of them passed out, and
only three were seriously injured. Of the four officers who got out one is in
the hospital in a coma - the doctors don't hold out any hope of him ever waking
up. The second guy went home two and a half months after the incident with scars
from second and third degree burns to 40% of his body, and the other practically
disappeared off the face of the earth..."

"Wait, if he disappeared
how do we know he's still alive?"

"There were reports of him
being spotted in Denmark and North Carolina. As far as anyone else can tell,
he got away relatively unscathed."

Ranelle sat watching her uncle,
waiting for him to continue. When it appeared he had stopped, Ranelle prompted
the man to speak again. "And....that's only three, what happened to the
fourth guy?"

"Ah, yes. The fourth Naval
survivor was just released from the hospital two weeks ago. Now..."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute.
Two weeks?? Only two weeks ago? You mean to tell me this guy was in the hospital
for just under ten months!? What happened?"

"Ahem, yes, exactly what
happened to this particular fellow, is, well, speculation at best. Not very
much was released on him. Just that he was a survivor and further inquiry on
his condition and whereabouts was classified. Commander Dean Ransom, United
States Navy, was the OIC (Officer In Charge) of the Navy team. And was also
responsible for evacuating eight of the eleven support personnel, and all three
of the critically injured ones. He also saved Lieutenant Bronce, who was the
man released from the hospital after two months. That is all I could get on
this guy, without saying that I'm writing an article on the entire event. You,
my dear, get that honor!"

Ranelle stared at her uncle for
several seconds, just blinking. "Bu...I...why...ho...what do you mean?"
Ranelle spluttered. "Why would someone actually want to GIVE reporters
information for articles? That's the most absurd thing I've heard. It takes
all the fun out of reporting, and it...it...just doesn't make...well, sense!
None, zip, zero, nadda, zilch!"

Chuckiling, Amark raised his
hand. "Ranelle, girl. Calm down. This whole thing got a lot of publicity,
bad publicity. And now the government is looking for someone to go out and tell
the real story. They came to me, and now I'm going to you. Officially, you'll
work through the Navy's PR department. You'll be given access to all the files
on the issue that won't jeopardize national security, and can ask any question
you want to the people who planned the campaign. I just can't guarantee you'll
get an answer. Also, the Naval survivors were told they could answer all your
questions about the event, within reason, of course. The thing is, they don't
have to answer. And Ranelle, if there is one thing I can tell you without a
shadow of a doubt, it's that people who have seen war and lost their comrades,
they don't really like to talk about it. Which is why I want you."

"But..."

"Let me finish Ranelle.
You have a good head on your shoulders and I know I can trust you not to print
anything that you may overhear that shouldn't be released. And if anyone has
a snowball's chance in hell of getting these people to open up,it's you. Anyone
can talk to the big brass who stayed here and monitored everything, but it won't
be a story if you can't get the people who lived it to talk to you. Oh, and
Ranelle, the last thing you might want to know. Dean Ransom will be your best
bet of people to talk to, seeing as the other guy is across the country and
Dean makes his home in our very own Dallas. I got the address and put it in
a folder with a bunch of other tidbits on your desk. Make me proud, Ranelle."

The young woman nodded and gave
a weak smile as she stood and moved to the door. In a state of shock, she moved
down the hall to her office. True to his word, a brown folder was sitting in
the middle of her cluttered desk. 'I can't believe he just handed me what has
to be one of the biggest stories of the year! Is he nuts or something, I can't
do this! Yes you can Ranelle, it's just another story. Calm down.'

Ranelle sucked in a breath and
set to work reviewing the folder.

********************

The wooden door slammed against
the wall with a resounding thud. Ranelle didn't even bother to raise her head
to see who had entered her apartment, she was so intent on her computer screen.
The sound of the door closing followed by footsteps that eventually stopped
at Ranelle's side came next. Finally, a loudly cleared throat was enough to
cause the young researcher to raise her head. To see her cousin standing there
with a decidedly annoyed look. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, working?" Ranelle
replied with a question more than an answer.

"Come on Ranelle, it's Thursday!
Duh. Have you been living in front of that screen for the last two days?"

"Thursday? It's Thursday?
That's nice Amanda, what happens on....."

"Jeez, you are horrible
Ranelle. Come on, close that down, if you stare at the screen any longer you'll
go cross-eyed." Amanda reached over her cousin's shoulder and saved her
current work and then exited the program. "Get up, it's noon on Thursday
and time for our weekly lunch. Come on! Up!" Amanda pulled Ranelle up by
her shoulders and dragged her sputtering cousin all the way to the door. Grabbing
her coat and shoes, Amanda pushed Ranelle out the door and then headed off to
the elevator.

Finally clueing into what was
happening, Ranelle found her voice as she was standing in the elevator. "Amanda,
why did you do that?! I was working!"

"I know. That's all you've
been doing since dad gave you this assignment. So, you're getting out of that
apartment with me, it'll give you some time to process whatever you were reading
and you can even talk about the assignment with me. I don't care! Anything to
get you out of the house."

A comfortable silence fell between
the occupants of the elevator for several seconds until Amanda turned to face
her cousin. "Ranelle, I know you want to talk about the entire thing. Cause
that's ALL you've been doing. So spit it out! I actually want to hear about
this." The elevator dinged on the ground floor and the pair exited the
cart. They left the complex and started walking to one of their favorite restaurants.
It didn't take long for Ranelle to dive headfirst into an explanation of her
work.

"Amanda, this is sooo interesting.
Even though I've spent the last two days on the phone with crabby Navy people
requesting files and then having everyone ask their superiors to make sure that
I can actually have access to them. I'm having a heck of a time getting DD-214's
for all the..."

"DD what?"

"It's a summary of
the sailors career, including training and station assiments, as well as medals
and ribbons."

"Okayyyy."

"Anyway, once I got the
files it was very educational. The basic objective is classified, so there isn't
any written record that I'm allowed to see. Everyone told me that I'd have to
talk to one of the officers involved to get an idea of the mission and what
went wrong. But I did get a minimal file on Commander Dean Ransom. Now, that,
was enlightening. There isn't a whole lot since almost everything he was involved
in was classified. However, he was labeled as a genius with IQ tests, scoring
well over 200. He graduated high school at 16 and was immediately approached
by the Navy and several other organizations."

Amanda thought for a moment,
drawing on her limited knowledge of the military and the Navy. "Don't you
have to take a test to become an officer? ASVAB or something?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Aww.. come on Ranelle,
don't be difficult!"

"99, which is like a perfect
score."

"Huh."

"Hey, wait a sec, why would
a genius want to enlist in the Navy?"

"Oh, right. Where was I....
it seems that in this family joining the Navy right after high school is a tradition,
his father did it and so did his two brothers and one sister. So, Dean joined
after graduating at the top of his class. He was also taking some University
courses at the time and got his degree in computer science after a year in the
Navy. It gets sketchy after that, but as far as I can tell Dean Ransom was an
excellent officer and shot up through the ranks. He was promoted to Commander
almost two years before the Middle East incident in 1998, and served for 16
years including the 10 months after the Middle East thing, too."

By this time, the cousins had
arrived at the restaurant and were being seated at their favorite table. After
ordering, Amanda started up the conversation again. "So, why haven't you
spoken to this guy yet?"

Ranelle sighed and started playing
with her silverware. "I'm going to, I have just about everything that I'm
gonna get over the phone about this entire thing. Actually, I'm getting the
feeling that they were purposely stonewalling me. I wanted to find out as much
as I could about Commander Ransom before I spoke to him so I wouldn't be surprised.
Plus, the guy got out of the hospital two weeks ago. I didn't want to start
pestering him for details about the events that put him there too soon."

Amanda nodded as she stared digging
into their newly arrived food. "Cool, so when are you going?"

"I was thinking about going
tomorrow morning since I got sucked into going out with Stacey and a bunch of
people Friday night. I'd do it then if I could. I'll call first, just to make
sure I'm not interrupting anything, he might not even be home for all I know."
Amanda nodded and the two finished eating in silence.

"You know," Amanda
looked at her cousin, "about that whole 10 months in the hospital thing.
That's sorta unbelievable what with modern medicine and all that. So what's
the story there? Any idea."

The blonde scrunched her nose
up and put down her fork. "Well, I'm not sure but it looks like Ransom
was bounced around to a lot of different hospitals and rehab centers. Everything
probably just took a long time to heal to the point where therapy could be started.
And that probably took a hell of a long time."

Amanda glanced up, "What
makes you say that?"

Ranelle shrugged, "Muscle
damage."

They fell into a comfortable
silence and made idle conversation while finishing their lunch. After paying
the bill, the duo left and started walking back to Ranelle's apartment. "How's
your final project going?"

"Huh, oh, I kinda forgot
about that ever since I got this assignment. I figure that's a good thing, right?
Besides, the whole point of going out on Friday is to get some help. It'll be
fine." Amanda nodded and looked off into the distance.

"Great, listen, I have to
get back to the office or dad is gonna flip. I'll see you later, okay. If not,
I'll be with everyone else Friday night. And good luck with the article."

"Thanks. Bye." Ranelle
finished walking back to her apartment in silence, already contemplating what
she was going to ask Dean Ransom when she got in touch with him.

*****************

The next morning Ranelle conducted
a search for the piece of paper that her uncle had given her that contained
Dean Ransom's address and phone number. In two days of research, Ranelle had
managed to make her desk look like a war zone. Papers and files and computer
printouts littered the surface, making finding one solitary scrap of paper difficult.

Finally, after an exhaustive
search of 10 minutes Ranelle emerged triumphant. Ranelle's cat, Terkers, however,
suffered the fallout and retreated under the bed where she would stay for several
hours. "Traitor," Ranelle commented in passing, on her way to the
phone. "Alright, lets see here." Ranelle picked up the receiver and
dialed, waiting patiently for an answer.

After several hundred rings,
at least that's what it seemed like to the researcher, an automated answering
machine picked up. Sighing her frustration, and hating to leave messages since
it seemed so impersonal, Ranelle hung up. 'I'll try again later. This guy is
either a heavy sleeper or a very early riser.'Looking at her watch,
Ranelle noted that it was only 7:30. 'Oh, man, I hope he isn't a morning person.
That always seems to mess things up when I'm trying to write an article.' Being
someone who enjoys sleeping, and always tries to catch as much as possible,
Ranelle resigned herself to the possibility of many early mornings in the future.

Grabbing her things, the young
woman decided to get as much done as possible during the day since she was up
and her night would be otherwise occupied with Stacey and company. Taking one
last look at Commander Ransom's address and phone number, Ranelle folded the
paper and stuck it in her pocket.

The golden haired woman arrived
at the cafe, named Hego's, promptly at 8 am. She sat at her usual table and
ordered coffee and a croissant. Just as her mind was turning back to the mysterious
Naval officer a familiar voice broke in. "My God, I can't believe my eyes.
Ranelle Maloch is sitting in front of me before 11 o'clock! I think I'm going
to faint."

"Ha ha, Stacey. You should
have taken up standup comedy, you would have done amazingly well." The
sarcasm that dripped off Ranelle's words was enough to make the waitress think
a puddle was going to form on the floor beneath Ranelle.

"Man, somebody got up off
the wrong side of the bed. What's eating you?"

Ranelle heaved a sigh and looked
at her friend. She had known Stacey since moving to Dallas, having met her through
Amanda since they happened to be roommates and had been for a long time. It
had been a blind date to start, although neither Stacey or Ranelle knew it.
They had hit it off, but only as friends and still maintained a close relationship.
Although Stacey had shifted into the role of match maker with Amanda. "Sorry,
it's not you. I'm just getting a little fed up with my article. I got the distinct
impression that the people on the phone were purposely not being helpful. And
now I can't get a hold of Commander Ransom, although I've only tried once. I
know it isn't his fault either, I'm just frustrated."

"Well, if you were getting
the run around on the phone maybe this Ransom fellow is giving it to you, too."

Ranelle immediately shook her
head. "Nu-hu, everything I've read about the Commander makes me think he
is an honorable officer, who knows the rules and follows them. Unless following
them would mean jeopardizing the lives of innocents. Ransom seems like the type
of person who isn't a 'yes man' but knows how and when to keep his opinions
to himself. Not to mention which rules he can get away with breaking and when
to break them. All the progress and fitness reports I could get my hands on
had one thing in common. It was something to the effect of 'Is an independent
thinker who tends to disregard orders and rules for the sake of others.'"

Stacey shook her head, causing
blonde ringlets to shake wildly, "Honey, in this day and age there ain't
nobody left like that. Those selfless, caring types. No way, that's the stuff
of fairy tales."

Ranelle grinned, "You can
think that, but I'm telling you that's what Dean Ransom is like. It's one of
the reasons he was recruited and made the commander of the team. As much as
I could suck out about it was that it was a special Navy team that carried out
operations everywhere on a regular basis. Not just the sea. They were specially
trained, and the main purpose was going in to help out the victims in crisis.
Also, they were some of the best and could kick serious ass."

"So you're telling me these
people were chosen for their selflessness and willingness to sacrifice for complete
strangers?"

"Pretty much. You wouldn't
be much good at it if you weren't willing to risk it all."

"I don't know Ranelle, they
sound like something else, what's that other group called. You know, they were
always the first there and last to leave, and all that jazz."

"The Marine Corps."

"Yeah."

"Well, the Marine's are
a branch of the Navy, but as far as I know the team was a Navy team. I'll just
have to ask Commander Ransom, if I can get in touch with him."

"What about the SEALs? Sounds
like them, too."

Ranelle rolled her eyes and sighed.
"Stacey, I really don't know. They aren't SEALs, but I don't know what
they are. Okay?"

"Right, well, enough talk
about work. About tonight. We'll be going to The Rainstep, you know that club
about twenty minutes from here?"

"Yeah, I know it."

"Great, just thought I'd
tell you. Meet me here at seven and we'll go together in my car. No sense in
both of use driving since you live so close to here and I'm already here with
a car. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Seven. Gotcha."

"Great, oh and bring your
laptop if you want Carly's help." Stacey shuffled away before Ranelle could
answer, leaving her with her coffee and fresh croissant. The young reporter's
mind turned to the issues that Stacey's innocent comments had raised and Ranelle
started to think that this just might be getting more interesting.

After a leisurely breakfast Ranelle
paid the bill and headed off to the office. When she arrived, Amanda was just
walking through the door with a file. "Hey, I got that info you wanted
about Ransom." She had requested that Amanda do a simple background check
on the Commander at lunch the other day. It seemed her efficient cousin was
still on the ball.

"Did you have any problems?"

"Nah, you wanted basic 'civilian'
stuff. No problem. But I gotta tell ya, this is boring!"

"That doesn't matter. Thanks."
Ranelle took the folder and plopped down into her desk chair.

"Welcome." Amanda parted,
leaving Ranelle in peaceful silence. She flipped open the folder, which was
basic records about taxes and a very borderline background check. Ranelle started
reading. During the time that Dean Ransom had actually spent in Dallas, which
was very little, it appeared he had been a model citizen. 'Taxes were paid on
property owned, no criminal record of any kind, parents were your regular.....wait
a minute.' Ranelle's eyes narrowed as she sat up straighter and took a closer
look at the paper in her hands. Releasing a quiet curse, Ranelle leaned forward
and entered something into her computer.

It stared back at her in black
and white. 'I can't believe I missed this! Dean Ransom, born outside of the
United States, immigrated at the age of 9. Father: Malcom Ransom, head and CEO
of Ransom Securities.'

"Son of a gun! Malcom Ransom
is the owner of the largest computer security/design company in the world. I
can't believe it. And he passed the company onto Dean. Well I'll be damned.
Now this is really getting interesting."

Looking at the clock and seeing
that it was now 11 am, Ranelle decided to try calling Dean Ransom again.

No answer.

Ranelle sat back and stared at
the computer again. 'At least I have something new to occupy my interest for
awhile.' Ranelle settled back for some in depth reading on Malcom, his company,
and family.

******************

Three hours later, Ranelle was
pulled from her reading by a knock on her door. "Come in." She looked
up to see Brock standing at the door. Brock was currently making his way through
University and had been a fellow researcher ever since Ranelle had recommended
him to Amark. Ranelle smiled and gestured the young man into the room. He stood
at about 5'10" with interesting smiling gray eyes and sandy blonde hair.
A splattering of freckles covered the area just under his eyes and across his
nose. "You've been in here an awful long time Ranelle. Anyhting I should
know about?" Brock said this with a grin and glanced around the room. "Everything
seems just like I remember, so what could be so interesting?"

"You'll never guess what
I found out about my article!"

"So why don't you just tell
me and save us all a lot of time, then."

"Commander Ransom's father
is Malcom Ransom." Ranelle waited for the realization to dawn on the young
man's face. She didn't have to wait long. Brock's eye widened and his jaw dropped.

"THE Malcom Ransom!?"
Ranelle simply nodded, still grinning at his response.

Ranelle started laughing at her
friend's stuttering. "Are you trying to say 'How can you know that Ranelle?
When Malcolm gave up control and named Dean as his successor everyone stared
to think he didn't exist because no one saw him?'"

Brock nodded.

"It's because he was over
seas at the time and just officially got back for an undetermined amount of
time two weeks ago."

"Oh, wow, that's amazing."
Shaking his head, Brock seemed to remember his reason for coming to see Ranelle.
"I just though I'd tell you that I'm going to the club tonight. I'll see
you there, 'kay?"

Ranelle absently nodded her head,
engrossed in her reading again.

*****************

Four-thirty rolled around and
Ranelle found herself wanting to talk to Commander Ransom even more now. Deciding
to try calling on more time, she picked up the phone and dialed. This time,
however, when the machine picked up Ranelle left a brief message explaining
who she was and her reason for calling.

After hanging up Ranelle gathered
her things to leave and paused briefly. 'I hope that was a good idea.
Ah, who am I kidding. The guy would never take that seriously.'

Shrugging off her message, Ranelle
left the office to prepare for an evening that she was sure would bore her to
death.

*****************

After arriving home, Ranelle
showered, changed, fed Terkers, and grabbed a light snack for herself. She had
never been to The Rainstep and didn't have a clue what the food would be like.
It was a realistic precaution.

Once she was ready to leave,
Ranelle sat down with her laptop to kill some time. She opened it up to her
final project and looked at the stubborn line of code with new eyes. Taking
a break always helped, and Ranelle hadn't even thought about the program since
Monday afternoon.

Still, Ranelle couldn't get the
stupid line coded properly. The young researcher fiddled with it for awhile
until it was time for her to leave. Ranelle stood, gathered her things and left
after locking the door.

It was a short walk to Hego's,
and the cool evening air made it even more enjoyable. Ranelle arrived at the
front of the cafe just as Stacey was escaping out the front door. "Hey,
Ranelle. Glad to see you aren't late."

"Hey, I'm never late, you're
just always early!"

"Okayyyy, whatever you say.
My car's over here, come on." Stacey led them to her wine colored Chevrolet
and the two women piled in. Stacey started the car and eased them into the busy
Dallas traffic. After several silent minutes Ranelle's curly-headed friend broke
the silence.

"Everyone else should be
there already. Did you bring your laptop?"

Ranelle lifted the bag on her
lap slightly, "Right here."

"Good." Ranelle gave
here friend a sidelong glance and then sighed.

"Are you sure you aren't
setting me up?" Stacey's hesitation was all the answer that Ranelle needed.
"Man, what is with you and Amanda?! Why do you insist on playing match
maker? I'm perfectly happy with my life the way it is right now."

Stacey frowned as someone cut
her off, "Don't you like Carly?"

"Carly is fine, she's smart,
pretty, and even has an okay personality. But I'm not looking for a girlfriend!
Jeez! What don't you understand about that!?"

Ranelle ended her mini-rant in
a huff and Stacey prudently kept silent. In a few more minutes they pulled into
the almost packed parking lot of The Rainstep. The women exited the car and
headed toward the short line at the door.

After a five minute wait they
were entering their chosen spot of entertainment. The Rainstep looked like a
respectable club to Ranelle. Once you came through the door it was basically
one giant square room. There was a bar immediately to the left and a stage for
bands on the right. Tables lined the walls, leaving the space in between for
dancers. A few couches resided in the back of the room, two of which were currently
occupied by different couples.

The atmosphere was relaxing and
enjoyable. The music was at just the right level, where you didn't have to yell
to be heard, but wouldn't be able to hear a glass breaking on the other side
of the room.

Stacey latched onto Ranelle's
hand and started leading her over to the middle of the bar and the table directly
in front of that section. Ranelle recognized Brock right away, followed by Carly
who was seated at the bar with Amanda. Another woman Ranelle didn't recognize
was sitting with Brock, and it was clear by the unease in their posture that
they didn't know each other. Finally, a tall male figure was conversing with
Amanda.

As they approached, Ranelle plopped
down next to Brock, who gave Ranelle a relieved smile. Turning her attention
to the short -- shorter than her, Ranelle was pleased to note -- woman at the
table, her sunny disposition took over. "Hi, I'm Ranelle." Ranelle
extended her hand and the woman returned it with a timid clasp.

"Joanna. Hi, it's nice to
meet you."

"Same here. Who did you
get dragged with?" Ranelle's smile took away any of the insult that the
words could have obtained.

"Carly."

"Ah, well this is Brock,"
Ranelle gestured to her friend, "if you didn't already know."

Brock offered his hand and Joanna
returned it with a timid smile as well. The two eventually got involved in a
conversation, about what sounded to Ranelle like The Human Torch. Ranelle gave
a mental shrug. 'As long as they have some common ground.'

Amanda's voice soon broke into
Ranelle's thoughts as she realized Brock and Joanna had moved to the bar and
Carly and her cousin, the man from the bar, had migrated to the table. "Ranelle,
you remember Carly."

"Of course." Ranelle
smiled. "It's good to see you again, Carly."

"Same here Ranelle. This
is my cousin, Arnold." The man in question extended his hand and smiled
pleasantly at Ranelle. He stood just under six feet, with a dark complexion,
and interesting eyes that seemed to change from a dark brown to an almost coal
black. He seemed nice enough to Ranelle and wasn't that bad looking.... for
a guy.

"I heard you were having
programming problems. Want me to take a look?" Carly interjected, causing
Ranelle to break off from her assessment of Arnold, a habit of hers that emerged
the first time she met someone new.

Ranelle sighed and pulled out
her laptop. 'What was that I said about common ground?'

Carly settled in next to Ranelle
and she started giving her new consultant the run-down on her program. Carly
nodded her head, but Ranelle got the distinct impression that she wasn't really
hearing a word that was coming out of her mouth. Finally, Ranelle pointed out
the line that was giving her problems and a debate immediately broke out between
the two.

Stacey and Amanda watched from
the bar as Brock and Joanna warmed up to each other. Carly's cousin had wandered
onto the dance floor, in search of more interesting company. The women turned
their heads and smiled at one another, followed by a high-five. Next, they turned
their eyes to the table in front of the bar.

The matchmakers, however, mistook
Ranelle and Carly's bent heads as two people getting along. When they were really
pointing at the screen and arguing about the troublesome line of code. The bent
heads were only there to try and keep the argument private, even though there
wasn't anything private about it.

**************

A tall body eased through the
door of the club, the normally erect and proud body slightly hunched because
of the cane grasped in the newcomers left hand.

Attentive eyes looked around
the room at the different patrons, assessing. Finally, they lit upon the sight
of a woman bent over a laptop in an argument with another woman.

The head tilted as the two arguers
were studied and analyzed from afar, just like most of the newcomers life had
been spent. From a distance. Present in the world but removed from it as well.

Interest piqued, the large body
moved easily forward.

**************

Ranelle rubbed her eyes as she
listened to yet another of Carly's reasons for trying her explanation, when
Ranelle knew that it would never work. In fact, it would probably increase the
problem tenfold. "Carly, that won't work! It'll just make the entire thing
crash and go bonkers."

"Ranelle, I'm telling you,
it'll work!"

"Actually," a low voice
broke into the conversation from behind, "she's right. That'll just make
the thing crash."

The heads of the seated women
whipped around to look up, and up, and still up, into the face of a stranger.
Ranelle stared as she took in the cool indigo blue eyes and raven colored hair
that was falling just passed the shoulders of the speaker. The tall woman had
a half-grin, as she looked back at the arguing duo.

Carly was the first to recover
from her dazed shock. "Who the hell are you?"

Ranelle blinked, blinked again,
and then stood and faced the woman. She extended a hand which the stranger grasped,
reflexively. "Hi, are you sure about that line of code."

"Oh yeah, your solution
is really close, just not quite right. I could show you, if you want."
The voice was low and deep, with an obvious accent, however the origin of that
accent Ranelle couldn't decide. It didn't have the distinct ring of being Irish,
English, Australian, Scottish, or any of the other common types she was used
to hearing.

"Sure." The tall woman
moved around to the chair beside Ranelle that wasn't occupied by Carly. As she
maneuvered herself into position, Ranelle noticed a cane in her left hand that
was assisting the stranger. After she seated herself, the woman turned the computer
slightly more towards her and started explaining what Ranelle needed to do to
fix the code.

Stacey would have nudged Amanda
and pointed to the tall newcomer asking, "Who's that?" except she
had slipped off to the bathroom moments before.

So she turned her attention to
the activity at the table and watched with avid, interested, eyes.

"And that's all you had
wrong," the stranger finished her explanation and leaned back in her chair.
Carly had left in a huff not long after the two had gotten involved in their
conversation. "I'm sorry if I interrupted you with, um.....that,"
she gestured vaguely toward where Carly had been seated.

"Huh? Oh, no, no. Don't
worry about it. She was here for more than computer help, which is all I wanted.
I'm Ranelle, by the way. I don't usually sit down with strangers but you offered..."

The woman waved her hand in a
dismissive gesture. "That's fine. I know. I'm Dean."

Ranelle nodded and then her head
stopped moving for an entire five seconds. Then, green eyes whipped around toward
blue and widened. Ranelle's mouth dropped slightly and she stared. "Um...a...you
don't...I mean....I thought...oh boy. Dean....as in Dean Ransom? Commander Dean
Ransom of the United States Navy? That Dean Ransom?"

Dean nodded and smiled. "Yes,
I'm all that. I got your message on my machine, and well, here I am."

"I figured. Wait a minute,
you're a woman!"

A full smile broke out across
her face at this comment. "Yes, I am, indeed."

Ranelle nodded. "Yeah, I
guess you would be. Listen, it's kinda late, but I'd love to talk to you about,
well, everything. But I don't want to do it here. Can we meet tomorrow? You
just cleared up any work I needed to finish by fixing that dumb code for me."

"Sure, where and when. Whatever
is convenient for you."

Ranelle thought for a moment.
"Okay, have you ever heard of a cafe named Hego's?"

"You're kidding, right?
I love that place, haven't been for awhile, though. What time?"

"Umm, 8:30?"

"Great, I'll see you tomorrow,
then." Dean rose and grabbed her cane again. She walked out of the club,
oblivious to the curious and interested stares she was the recipient of.

Stacey descended upon her friend
the second Dean left. "Alright, who was that?"

Stacey's jaw dropped as her eyes
turned to the space the Naval officer had just vacated.

*****************

The next morning started off
mildly hot and humid even though they were now almost through the month of November.
The only real sign of winter's approach was the earlier setting sun. Ranelle
was able to drag herself out of bed by 8 am with a surprisingly small amount
of groaning and complaining, and by 8:15 she was in her normal good mood as
she walked out the door.

The short stroll to Hego's brought
Ranelle to the door of the cafe just after 8:30. The researcher entered and
did a quick scan of the cafe. When she didn't see Dean, Ranelle moved further
into the building and started scanning the tables again. "She's over in
the corner there." The familiar voice caused Ranelle to jump and spin around.

"Jesus, Stacey. You scared
me. I hate when you sneak up on me!"

"I wasn't sneaking!"

"If I don't hear you then
you're sneaking! Now, you said Dean was in the corner?" Stacey nodded and
Ranelle nodded her thanks. She moved off toward the table her friend had indicated,
and sure enough Dean was seated there.

As Ranelle moved closer to the
table Dean stood and pulled out the chair beside her. She took the opportunity
to study the officer and noticed that she was dressed very similar to the night
before. Worn and comfortable blue jeans, a light colored tight T-shirt that
showed off tight muscle in Dean's lanky frame. Brown, worn, work boots adorned
her feet, and Ranelle wondered how her feet could possibly not cook in them.
A pair of mirrored wrap-around sunglasses sat on the table, and Ranelle noticed
a brown leather jacket thrown over her chair. Ranlle smiled and moved over to
the offered piece of furniture. Just as she was about to sit, Ranelle stopped
and looked up at Dean. The tall woman returned the look with a raised eyebrow
and smirk. "What?"

"Man, you're tall! I didn't
realize that the other night." Ranelle shook her head and sat, idly noting
that her companion reached a height of what must of been at least 6' 5".
Dean followed her lead and retook her seat. Just as the women were about to
break the silence a perky voice interrupted them.

"So, Ranelle, what can I
get for 'ya?" Ranelle looked up at her smiling friend and scowled.

"Do you have to ask Stace?
I'm in here almost everyday!"

"Yeah, but that's for lunch
or coffee or something. This," the waitress waved her arm in a motion meant
to include the cafe and its occupants, "is breakfast time. And I don't
recall ever taking your breakfast order. So, what do you want?" Stacey
finished with a cheeky smile, as she poised her pencil over her pad of paper.

Ranelle heaved a sigh and peaked
at her breakfast companion. Dean was looking down at the table like it held
the secrets to life with a colossal grin creasing her face. "Just gimme
some coffee and, um, something edible that's warm. Okay?"

"Gotcha!" Stacey bustled
away leaving them once again alone.

Dean was the first to speak.
"You know, if you aren't a morning person we could have met in the afternoon.
That's why I told you to pick. It didn't really matter to me." Blue eyes
looked up at Ranelle and she felt herself compelled to explain.

"Well, I never expected
you to actually show up at the club when I left that message. I figured that
after you listened to it and heard who I was and why I was calling that I would
never meet you. Plus, you just got out of the hospital awhile ago and..."

Dean held up her hand. "Whoa,
why would you think I wouldn't want to talk to you?"

Ranelle looked up with annoyed
eyes. "Seems to me that I've been getting the run around from a lot of
people over the phone. This was supposed to be a 'everyone will tell you exactly
what you want to know, as long as it doesn't jeopardize national security' assignment.
It hasn't exactly been like that, and I guess I just started assuming..."

"Ranelle." The sound
of her name spoken in a cold, hard tone, brought her rambling to an immediate
stop and her green eyes latched onto blue. "One thing you have to understand
right now. I lost a lot of good men over there, friends. And this situation
has had nothing but bad publicity ever since it happened. People have been blaming
us, and if there is one thing that I won't let happen it's the blame for this
being put on those soldiers. They were good men. I'm here to tell you what happened,
how it happened, and make sure you get the full story. That's it." Dean's
voice was choked with emotion, and Ranelle believed that with this woman's help,
she would indeed get the entire story.

Ranelle nodded. "Right.
Sorry."

Dean's dark head nodded as well,
and the two concentrated on their newly delivered food and coffee as the tension
eased. Finally, Ranelle deemed it safe to start talking again and decided that
getting right to the point of their meeting would be best. "So, where would
you like to start?"

"Uh, oh, yeah, sorry. Well...um...jeez."
Dean closed her eyes, sighed, and shook her head. "Okay, what I'm trying
to say is that this entire thing is really not that easy to talk about. Like
you said, I just got out of the hospital and it seems like this whole thing
just...happened. So, if you want....everyhting that happened, it isn't going
to be one of those sit down for two hours and spill your guts type of interview."
Dean looked over at Ranelle and she felt a pang in her heart seeing a brief
flicker of hidden horrors behind those blue eyes. "It'll take awhile for
you to get everything that you're going to need. And I'm not gonna be able to
sit down and go through days of events at once. I'm also assuming that you want
specifics, not just what happened there, but why we were there, why what happened,
happened, and what I think might have gone wrong for it to happen." Dean
gave Ranelle a questioning look and she nodded. "Okay, well telling you
all that information is going to take awhile, too. I hope you can live with
that?"

Staring into Dean's eyes, Ranelle
almost missed the rest of the officer's explanation and question. Blinking,
Ranelle focused on her surroundings again and smiled. "No problem. I'll
wait for as long as you need."

Dean nodded her head in something
close to relief. "I'm not sure where to start."

Ranelle turned her eyes upon
the strong profile and noticed a not quite healed scar that started just above
Dean's right eyebrow, curved down toward her temple, and continued back into
the tall woman's hairline. "Okay, how about what you were in the hospital
for. Since it's the most recent thing that happened."

"Sure." Dean closed
her eyes for a moment before her low voice broke the quiet atmosphere at their
little table. "As I'm sure you know I was just released about two weeks
ago. I spent the first four and a half days at an American embassy hospital
in critical and unstable condition. After that they airlifted me to a military
hospital in New York, moving me before that would have killed me. Before going
to New York, doctors had to fix my collapsed lung and perform surgery. I was
bleeding internally, they say that they removed my spleen and something else
was ruptured."

"Jesus."

The small exclamation was enough
for Dean to pause in her story momentarily. Dean looked at Ranelle and smiled.
"Sorry, I'm no doctor, and I don't remember much of this. This is just
what they told me. Anyway, once I got back to the states they started treating
me for chemical burns on my legs and back. That's what this is for." Dean
hefted the cane in her left hand so that Ranelle could see it. Seeing that the
young woman wanted to speak, Dean paused in her narrative and inclined her head.

"Your cane, well, I noticed
that you limp a little. Is it permanent?"

"No, well, the scars are
pretty nasty, at least I think they are. Most of them are on the back of my
legs. I won't need the cane forever. My physical therapist predicts I'll be
rid of it by the end of the month. He did say that I might retain a slight limp,
but it would only be visible when I'm really tired, or to someone who knows
me well. In addition to all that, seven broken ribs, compound fracture in my
right leg, four broken fingers on my left hand, and a hell of a lot of little
cuts and lacerations. Bullet through my right shoulder, it still aches sometimes.
Pain in the ass. Oh, and a big nasty piece of shrapnel winged the side of my
head." Dean's hand unconsciously went up and touched the long scar on her
head. "That caused some problems. Swelling in the brain and stuff."

Dean stopped, leaving Ranelle
to soak up all the information. She had a small tape recorder in her pocket
that had been running since she sat down so she wouldn't have to write anything
down. Dean turned toward the woman beside her and graced Ranelle with a half-smile.
"That's about it."

Ranelle nodded and was about
to ask a question when a beeping broke her concentration. Dean looked at her
watch and sighed. Ranelle glance at the clock on the wall and noted with some
shock that it was almost 10 am. Dean turned to Ranelle after silencing her watch.
"Listen, I have an appointment. Here's my cell number," Dean handed
Ranelle a card, "use it if you really have to get in touch with me. I'm
usually gone in the morning and don't get back to the house until about 2. When
do you want to pick this up?"

Dean started to stand as she
spoke, reaching into her back pocket for her wallet. She pulled out some money
and threw it on the table, then turned to Ranelle for an answer.

"Tonight?"

Dean nodded, "Sure. When
and where?"

"Uh, could you possibly
swing by the magazine office around 6:30, otherwise I'll get caught up in something
and forget." Ranelle hastily scrawled an address on one of the napkins
and handed it to Dean.

"No problem." With
that, Dean turned, grabbed her cane, and left the cafe. Ranelle watched the
officer leave and then reached into her pocket to turn off the tape recorder.
Adding some of her own money to the pile on the table, Ranelle headed out to
the magazine office.

*****************

After leaving Hego's, Dean proceeded
to her car and started driving to her appointment. After a twenty minute trip,
Dean pulled into the parking lot of a large building. Above the doors, written
in a dark purple, were the words RANSOM SECURITIES.

This was one of the companies
many stores that took up residence throughout the US, Canada, places in Europe,
Asia, and Australia. They sold computer systems and almost any electronic part
you could imagine, carry out repairs on products, contain models showing the
different types of security you could buy along with different web designs one
might want to pay for. The large store was split into three sections. One for
the computer systems and security and another for the design half of the company.
The third section was a large back-room area, where computers were fixed and
problems were analyzed.

This store happened to be the
'parent' store, so to speak. It was the largest outlet for Ransom products and
services, and if your computer couldn't be fixed here then there's no hope for
it.

Dean entered through the front
and walked directly to the large desk at the right of the store. The man standing
behind it looked up and his face broke into a smile as he saw who was walking
toward him. "Dean! It's good to see you. How are you?"

"I'm doing all right Scott.
I was wondering how long it was going to take for you to ask me to come over
here, then I got your message the other day. So, what's up?"

"Ah, yes. Come here, come
here. There was a very disgruntled lady in here two mornings ago raving and
ranting about her computer and the," Scott raised his hands and made quotation
marks in the air, "'very important, crucial, data.' That was stuck on this
'godforsaken, evil, machine that is the demon spawn of this century.'"
Scott lowered his hands and stopped making quotation marks. "Basically
she said that if WE didn't fix it by the time she came back tonight she'd tell
everyone what horrible customer service we have, and that our products are second
rate. Blah, blah, blah." Scott looked up at his employer and saw the slight
twinkle in her eye, testament to her amusement. "So, I looked at it, Richard
looked at it, even whiz-kid Johnny looked at the damn thing. We don't know what's
wrong."

Dean shook her head and sighed.
"Tell me, Scott, what I pay you people for if you can't fix a computer?"

Scott looked up at his lifelong
friend with wide eyes, as if saying 'how could you forget why you pay us?' "Why,
Dean, it's very simple. If you didn't have us you also wouldn't have any customers.
Face it, you big, bad, Naval officer - when it comes to customer relations,
you suck."

Dean smiled, a real, full smile,
and slapped Scott and the back. "I missed you, Scotty."

The clerk's humor vanished, replaced
by seriousness. "I missed you too, Dean. I'm glad you made it out of there,"
his voice started choking up, "and that you're okay."

Dean nodded and then turned to
the back room and troublesome computer. Not accustomed to dealing with such
strong emotions, Dean thought it best to leave before she broke down completely.
Deciding to bury herself in something she could do in her sleep, the officer
sat down at the counter in the back and started fixing the complex electronic
device.

********************

Knock, knock.

"Dean, hey, are you still
alive in there?"

Knock.

"Come on Dean, open up.
It's almost closing time and Mrs. Dogertie is here demanding to know if her
computer is fixed." Just as Scott raised his arm to knock again the wooden
panel flew open. Scott entered and his jaw dropped.

Not only had Dean fixed Mrs.
Dogertie's computer, but the other two computers and a myriad of other devices
that had previously been stubborn in wanting to remain in their faulty state.
They were all fixed, it seemed. And the room was...clean. The counter's that
lined all the walls of the room had previously been covered in different tools,
parts, and devices.

Wow.

Dean had, in less than eight
hours, cleared up all the work that had been hanging over all the repairmen's
heads for several days. And she had cleaned the disastrous room that Scott often
wondered how anyone, including himself, could work in.

His employer was still sitting
on a stool at the counter in the middle of the room, staring at the opposite
wall. Heaving a sigh, blue eyes finally turned toward Scott, as Dean seemed
to notice his presence. Dean stood, grabbed her cane, and moved over to her
friend. "Tell Mrs. Dogertie that her computer has returned to the land
of the living. I have to go meet up with a reporter. See you later Scott."

Scott quickly turned his blonde,
almost white, head to look at Dean. "Wait, I really want to talk to you
Dean. I know how you get caught up in things and that if I don't make plans
now I won't see you for a week. So, when can we get together?"

The tall woman made a low humming
sound in her throat as she thought for a moment. "It's Saturday, right?"
Scott nodded. "Okay, um, swing by my place Sunday morning around 10."

"Sure. See you then."
Dean nodded and turned to leave the large store. Scott moved to the door and
kept his eyes glued to her back until she was out of view. Scott's thoughts
ran along the lines of how lucky Dean was to still be alive, and for everyone
who knew her to have her back in their lives.

******************

Pulling into the parking lot
of the building that housed her uncle's magazine, Ranelle noticed that only
a few cars filled the spots. Then she remembered that it was Saturday and most
normal people were at home living their lives.

Not Ranelle.

She had a feeling that she was
going to need to take every spare moment to keep all the information Dean supplied
her with recorded and in order. Ranelle had a feeling that getting this story
was going to be difficult. Not because of Dean's unwillingness to give it, not
at all. Just that it was a traumatic event and as Dean herself said, the Middle
East tragedy would be divulged in short segments.

However, even that knowledge
was not what was creating these feelings in the young researcher. Ranelle had
noticed a slightly unpleasant gnawing sensation in her stomach ever since the
phone calls to the Navy brass. It had been steadily growing the past few days.

Now, a strong feeling of danger
accompanied this story and seemed to hang in the air. 'Come on Ranelle, get
a grip.' She chastised herself. 'You just have a bad case of an overactive imagination.
You can start getting paranoid if something happens'.

Ranelle shook off her disturbing
thoughts and proceeded to the secure entrance of the building. She greeted Tony,
the security guard, just inside the door, not sensing the malevolent eyes firmly
attached to her back.

When she arrived in her office,
Ranelle started entering into the computer what Dean had told her. This way,
she could tape over their last conversation and not have to go through a bunch
of audio tapes while collecting the story.

Emersing herself in her work,
Ranelle hardly noticed as the hours started ticking by.

****************

Pulling her SUV into the almost
deserted parking lot with darkness almost totally set in, Dean jumped out of
the high vehicle and grabbed her cumbersome cane. 'I'll sure as hell be glad
when I'm rid of this stupid thing. Thank God the therapist says we can scrap
it after this month. Oh, this month ends in a week. Goody!'

Dean grinned at her realization
as she headed to the three steps up to the office. As she entered, Dean was
greeted by a slightly balding man in a security outfit who was preparing to
leave. He gave her a questioning look and just as Dean was about to reply a
welcome voice broke in. "Don't worry Tony, she's here for me. Have a nice
night."

The security guard grumbled and
left the building, trusting Ranelle to lock it up as the young woman often did.
Ranelle turned to Dean and smiled. "Hey, just give me a minute." Dean
nodded and watched as Ranelle pulled a set of keys out of her bag and checked
the three doors in the main lobby. Coming back to Dean, Ranelle nodded and motioned
to the exit, signaling that she was ready to leave.

The duo moved outside as Ranelle
stopped to lock the door and check it once before she tucked her key back into
her pocket. "So," Ranelle started as they moved farther into the parking
lot, "where are we going and are we going to take two cars or one?"

"Well, I was think..."
Dean's voice was cut off as Ranelle was roughly shoved into the taller woman,
causing Dean to hit her back on a parked car. Slightly stunned, Dean looked
up in time to see the outline of someone grab Ranelle. The Naval officers mind
registered a glint in the person's hand as she stood up.

Ranelle felt something push her
and then she felt herself fall into Dean. Before she could process what was
happening she felt herself pulled up to a standing position again. Seeing the
glint of a weapon, Ranelle started to panic. Just before she could react in
any way, the grip on her arm and around her waist was removed and Ranelle found
herself headed to the ground again, the slight clatter of a weapon hitting the
ground registering in her mind before her head impacted a parked car. Landing,
she shook her head to try and get rid of the buzzing sound in her ears and turned
in time to see Dean twisting the attacker's arm up behind him. Cursing reached
Ranelle's ears as she watched the scene playing out before her.

Dean had just reacted, grabbing
the person's arms and causing the attacker to release his hold on Ranelle. Dean
grimaced as the attacker swung an elbow back and landed a solid blow on her
stomach. Before the assailant could strike again, Dean powered them both around
so they were facing the opposite end of the parking lot with a solid line of
three cars in front of them.

Feeling her hold slipping, Dean
swung her leg around and in front of the person in her grasp to try and trip
the attacker. The weapon wielding person was able to compensate, however, by
jumping slightly. Now with a better hold on Dean's arm, the attacker managed
to reverse their positions so the officer was now in front and slammed her painfully
onto the hood of Ranelle's car, stomach first.

Dean heard a low chuckle from
above her and growled low in her throat. Grabbing the gloved hand by her face,
Dean twisted and heard the cracking of bones. Smiling, Dean flipped around and
tried to stand, but found herself shoved back to the hood of her car. On her
back, now, Dean was able to see better, but the attacker raised the stakes as
a broken bottle from the ground came into view.

Not knowing how the person in
black had managed to pick it up, but seeing that it was coming straight for
her, Dean raised her long legs and bent them as much as she could. Getting her
feet a solid grip on the attacker's waist, Dean pushed out just as the bottle
started its descent.

Ranelle had stood and watched
closely as the two people moved around the parking lot. Not quite catching their
quick movements, Ranelle was unable to determine how Dean had ended up on the
hood of her car. Seeing the bottle as the person leaning over Dean raised it,
Ranelle looked around for something she could use as a weapon. Just as the young
woman spotted a rock, Ranelle saw a body fly past her, heard a painful grunt,
and the breaking of glass.

As she turned, Ranelle saw the
assailant scurrying into the night after picking themselves up from where he
had landed. Her urge to run after the person all but disappeared as Ranelle
turned again and saw Dean's distinctive form sitting on the ground. Fearing
the worst, Ranelle ran toward the officer and dropped down next to her. Dean's
eyes were closed and her breathing was ragged. "Dean, you okay?" Blue
eyes slowly opened and tracked to concerned green. A small smile greeted her
before Dean spoke.

"No...yes...sorta."

"Huh. What's wrong, why
are you breathing so heavily?"

"I had to...kick that guy
away from me. Or...he woulda....probably..killed me." Dean stopped and
sucked in a large breath and closed her eyes briefly. "It was killer on
my legs."

"Oh." Seeing the confused
look, Dean opted to explain.

"They won't be up to a hundred
percent for a long while yet. And shoving away a 200 pound person is the last
task that they were up to at the moment."

"Buh...I thought..."

"Ranelle, walking on them
is one thing. I still have a heck of a time if I need to go up a lot of steps
many times a day. There was lots of muscle damage. Anyway, give me a hand up
so we can get out of here." Still worried about Dean, but agreeing that
getting her up off the ground would be a step in the right direction, Ranelle
stood and offered Dean her hand.

Once she was standing, Dean sucked
in a pained breath and closed her eyes again. Ranelle looked at her friend,
her brows furrowing as she noticed a darker spot on Dean's light shirt. "Shit,
Dean. You're bleeding!"

"Huh." Dean looked
down and noticed the blood at the top of her left shoulder. Frowing, the Naval
officer touched the area and felt nothing. Dean then lifted her arm and twisted
to the right, wincing. "Yeah, looks like that idiot cut my back."
She raised her eyes to the shorter woman and squinted slightly before replying,
"So are you."

"Huh?"

"Bleeding." Dean raised
a large hand to a small gash above the end of her left eyebrow.

"Oh, well, don't worry about
it. I didn't even know it was there. Come on, you need to get that looked at."

Dean shook her head. "No,
come on, we'll go to my place and you can bandage it up, and I'll take care
of you. But I'm not going to a hospital."

Ranelle sighed, took one look
at Dean's face, and realized that she wouldn't win this argument. "Fine,
but I'm driving. We'll take my car." Dean shook her head. "Why?"

"Cause I don't wanna get
blood in it. Here," Dean handed her keys to Ranelle.

Ranelle nodded, grabbed the jingling
item, and walked to the SUV with Dean a step ahead. The taller woman paused
momentarily, bent down, and retrieved the switchblade. Flipping it closed, she
looked into Ranelle's eyes for a long moment before slipping the item into her
pocket. They continued to the car.

****************

Following the directions as they
were given to her, Ranelle was surprised to note that Dean indicated they had
arrived at their destination after 10 minutes. Albeit, to Ranelle it looked
as though they were in the middle of nowhere. Indicating a road that was almost
hidden because of overgrowth, Dean mumbled something about turning down the
little path and following it until Ranelle saw the house.

About halfway down the driveway,
the sky opened up with an unexpected downpour of rain. 'Great, rain.'Were
the thoughts of both occupants of the car. As she drove, Ranelle noticed that
the driveway got wider and eventually became paved. It was lined with tall,
majestic looking trees.

The headlights finally illuminated
a large looking structure. The combination of darkness and rain, however, prevented
Ranelle from getting a good look at the house. She pulled up as close to the
front door as she could, idly noting that it was now 7 o'clock. Looking over
at Dean, Ranelle decided that the woman didn't look too good. "Hey, you
okay?"

Slowly, Dean's eyes tracked to
hers and the dark head gave a slight nod. "Yeah, I'm...um..a...yeah, I'm
good."

"Right. Come on, lets get
inside." Ranelle exited the car and moved around to the passenger side.
She kept a close eye on Dean, finally wrapping an arm around her waist when
they reached the four steps up to the door.

After unlocking the wooden portal,
Dean paused and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. Dean groaned. "Great,
power's out." Looking around, the tall Naval officer made a decision. "Listen,
why don't you go grab my first aid kit. It's in the kitchen," Dean pointed
off to their right, "under the sink. I'm gonna grab some different clothes
for both of us since they're wet. I'll meet you in the there." Dean pointed
to another room off to their left. Ranelle nodded and watched briefly as Dean
headed down the hallway in front of them.

The young researcher turned and
headed to the kitchen. After stumbling along in the cupboards, Ranelle yanked
open a drawer and found a flashlight. She smiled. Flicking it on, Ranelle located
the sink and the cupboard underneath it. Grabbing the first aid kit, Ranelle
headed back into the living room, where there was a slight glow being emitted.

Entering the room, Ranelle saw
Dean sitting on the couch in a pair of sweat pants and a Dallas Stars hockey
jersey with some more clothes sitting on her lap. Dean was holding a piece of
cloth to the cut to stop the flow of blood and keep her shirt clean.

Candles around the room had been
lit, providing plenty of light. Seeing Ranelle enter, Dean looked up and threw
some clothes at her. "They'll be big, but they're dry."

Ranelle caught the garments and
smiled her thanks. Migrating into a darker part of the house, Ranelle quickly
pulled on the shorts that hung well past her knees-- almost down to her ankles,
actually-- and a large gray sweater that she had to roll the sleeves up on six
times.

Coming back into the living room,
Ranelle retrieved the kit and walked over to the couch. "Okay, lay down
on your stomach and take your shirt off, please."

Dean nodded and moved into the
requested position. Ranelle kneeled down next to the long back and opened the
kit. She took a closer look at the cut and saw that it was pretty superficial.
Sighing in relief, Ranelle started cleaning and bandaging it. "It isn't
that bad, really, more of a flesh wound than anything else." Dean grunted
her acknowledgment.

While taping on a piece of gauze,
Ranelle let her eyes wander along Dean's back. She took in the scars, the majority
of them the chemical burns that Dean had mentioned, concentrated mostly on the
left side of her lower and middle back. Ranelle winced in sympathy. Then she
noticed a scar on her right shoulder that she figured was the bullet wound Dean
had spoken of. She figured there would be a similar scar on the front of Dean's
shoulder, too.

As she finished smoothing the
tape over Dean's skin, Ranelle moved her hands back, almost dropping the roll
of tape in her hands. Catching it just above Dean's back, her hand grazed a
patch of twisted, angry looking skin. Dean flinched immediately. "I'm sorry,"
Ranelle was quick to say after seeing the officer move. "Do they hurt?"

"Hey," Ranelle gently
put her hand on Dean's shoulder, careful to avoid any scars or the newly dressed
wound, "it's okay. You can get up now." Ranelle turned and started
putting things back in the first aid kit as Dean sat and pulled on her jersey
once again.

Turning back, Ranelle looked
at Dean at a loss of what to say. "You a fan?" Ranelle indicated the
jersey. Dean nodded. "You?" Ranelle nodded.

"Lemme take care of that."
Dean gestured to the cut on Ranelle's forehead. She simply nodded. After cleaning
the cut off Dean closed up the kit and they sat staring at each other for several
moments. Ranelle finally spoke what had been on her mind since getting into
the house.

"I think it would be a good
idea if I stayed here tonight. With the rain... and no power, I'd probably get
lost if I left myself, and you really shouldn't be driving...with your legs
and...everything.." The words came out in a rush, and Ranelle shyly looked
up at Dean. Expecting an argument or at least a slight protest, Ranelle was
shocked to hear Dean utter a quiet 'sure'.

Looking back down at the floor
between them, Ranelle remembered Dean sitting in the parking lot, panting. "How
are your legs?"

Dean shrugged. "We'll find
out in the morning. But, I really should walk on them a bit. Keep them from
getting too stiff."

"Probably." Ranelle
stood and offered Dean a hand up. She took it and the two women just stood there
for a moment looking at each other. Realizing that they were staring, they both
shook their heads at the same time and smiled.

"You hungry? I don't think
I have very much, but I imagine we could find something."

"A little."

"Come on, then." Dean
led the way into the kitchen with Ranelle following and watching closely to
be sure the officer didn't stumble. The young woman grabbed the flashlight as
an after thought and then continued across the hall. When she got into the kitchen,
Dean was perched on one of the stools that lined the outer side of the counter.
"I'm not sure what I have, take a look."

Ranelle walked over to the fridge,
turned on the flashlight and opened the door. Looking into the appliance, Ranelle
started to speak, "Dean, you have milk, orange juice, ketchup, mustard,
butter, three eggs, and some kind of meat."

"Meat? Really?"

"Yeah."

"Is it any good?"

"Um," Ranelle took
the meat out of the fridge and opened the package, "yeah, and it's ham."

"Hmmm." Ranelle grabbed
something out of the fridge, slid it across the counter and then shone the light
on it.

"What's that?"

Dean looked down at the package,
her brow furrowing. She picked it up and started examining it. "Um, I really
don't know."

"Okaayyy. Why don't we,"
Ranelle moved forward and took the package out of Dean's hands, "just put
it back in here." She placed the mystery food into the freezer and closed
the door. "That should be safe."

A low chuckle came from across
the room and Ranelle smiled, glad to see that Dean was doing all right. "So,
you have butter, but do you have anything to butter?"

"I think so, look in that
cupboard there." Ranelle opened the indicated cupboard and continued cataloging
Dean's food.

"Seven slices of bread,
three bagels." Turning, she looked at the Navy officer incredulously, "You
actually live off this." Ranelle waved her hands, indicating the things
in the kitchen.

"Pretty much. I have some
cereal floating around somewhere, too. You could take the meat and make a sandwich,
I'll just eat a bagel."

Ranelle nodded and pulled the
bread and a bagel out of the cupboard. Going back to the fridge, the butter,
meat, mustard and a knife joined the bread. After assembling the sandwich, Ranelle
looked up into blue eyes. "Something's missing. You wouldn't happen to
have any tomato or lettuce would you?"

Thinking for a second, Dean nodded.
"Open the bottom right drawer of the fridge. There should be a clear plastic
bag in there."

After she retrieved the bag and
got a good look at the contents, Ranelle raised her eyebrows at Dean and waited
for an explanation. Shrugging, the officer started speaking, "Maria seems
to think that I have bad eating habits.."

Snorting, Ranelle interjected,
"That's an understatement."

"Ahem. Anyway, she's always
trying to stuff those 'healthy' foods down my throat for as long as I can remember.
Go ahead, she dropped it off the other day."

Tearing open the bag of salad,
the researcher added several slices of tomato and some leaves of lettuce. Smiling
in satisfaction, Ranelle completed the sandwich and then grabbed a plate. Dean
grabbed her bagel and motioned for them to go back to the living room where
there was light. "Who's Maria?"

"Well, she started off as
a friend of my sister, and then we sorta bonded a little one summer. The three
of us have all been good friends since, despite the age difference. Besides
her and Scott, I don't have that many 'good' friends."

"Scott?"

"I've known him since I
was a kid. He works at one of our stores as the manager. And a damn good one!"
They sat down on the couch, side-by-side and continued the conversation.

"Oh, okay. Do you get along
well with your siblings?" Dean's hesitation caused Ranelle to quickly look
up and retract the question. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about
this. I know I'm prying, but it is sort of what I do. However, it has no bearing
on what happened in the Middle East so..."

"No, it's fine. I just realized
that I haven't seen any of them since I got back."

"You mean since you got
out of the hospital?"

"No, since I got back to
the states. Maria came and saw me a few times with my sister, Rachel, but besides
that..."

"Oh, Dean. I'm so sorry."

"For what? You're not the
one who didn't show up. Anyway, to answer your question, I probably get along
the best with Rachel. My older brother, Slyvester and I, we never could spend
more than five minutes with each other without getting into an argument. The
last time we spoke he said he never wanted to see me again. That was about eight,
no nine, years ago. Then there's David," a large smile spread across Dean's
face, "he's my younger brother. We always spent as much time as we could
with each other as kids. My parents say that he practically worshiped the ground
I walked on."

"So, if you got along so
well how come he never came and visited."

The smile faded and Dean lowered
her head, "I don't know what happened. He just stopped talking to me, quit
returning phone calls, eventually I just stopped trying to reach him. That happened
a few years ago, too." Dean shrugged, dismissing the situation and her
feelings. "So, when I was finally allowed to have visitors I called Rachel
and asked her to contact Maria. They were the only people who I knew would come
besides Scott. I did try my parents but nothing happened there."

Ranelle closed her eyes, imagining
what that must of been like. To have seen a mission go bad and almost all of
your men die. Then to come back to the states critically injured, knowing that
when you were finally able to see your family, out of five people related to
you by blood only one would show up. 'That must have hurt', Ranelle thought.

"What about you?" The
low voice jolted Ranelle out of her thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Well, you're gonna hear
all this stuff about me, I'd kinda like to know a little bit about you."

Ranelle sniffled, took a bite
of her sandwich, and then spoke. "Not much to tell, really. I had a big
falling out with my family almost two years ago and moved to Dallas. I'm finishing
off school to get a job in the design or security computer field. I have a sister
and brother, one younger the other older. They still talk to me, it's my parents
that don't." Ranelle shrugged. "My uncle and cousin live here and
I'm probably closer to Uncle Amark than I was to either of my parents."

Ranelle looked up at Dean to
see that she had a captive audience. And couldn't understand why. "I'm
really boring, not much to tell like I said. You, however, are much more interesting."

Dean unscrunched her eyebrows
and blinked a few times. "That's because it isn't. My dad is Italian with
the tiniest bit of Greek in him. And my mother is pure Russian."

Ranelle sat there staring at
Dean for a moment before blowing out a big breath. "You've gotta be kidding!?"

Dean shook her dark head.

"Wow, what a mix!"

A nod.

"See, you are a lot more
interesting than me."

A shrug.

"How long can you go without
saying anything?!"

A grin.

Ranelle sighed and rolled her
eyes dramatically.

"What about you?"

Ranelle looked up, "Me?"

"Yeah, you don't sound like a
native Texan." Dean affected the Texas accent which added to her own natural
one, created a very strange result. Ranelle covered her mouth and laughed a
moment before collecting herself.

"Sorry, you just sounded funny."

"I bet."

"Ahem.. I'm originally from Everette,
Washington."

"Why'd ya leave?"

"Well, my parents and I had different
ideas about my future. Don't get me wrong, they loved me to death... I can't
imagine a more loving couple, but they saw things one way and I saw it the other.
Despite how much they loved me they were kinda aloof and we don't talk all that
much, like I said before. When I moved we just sorta drifted further apart...
it's not really because there is any animosity just as a kid, I never felt like
I had anything worthwhile to say to them. I imagine it would be different now,
if we got together in the same room." Ranelle shrugged. "They still supported
me in what I wanted to do but I could tell they were still disappointed and
it just got to me eventually. Plus, some things were happening with me and a
few other people which was indirectly causing them a lot of grief..... So I
left, figured it'd be best for all of us."

Dean processed this for a moment
and asked, "What did they want you to do?"

"Go into the family business..
It's kinda akin to joining the Navy in your family, I guess."

"And that business would be??"

"Oh, horse racing."

The dark haired woman's jaw dropped,
"Excuse me?"

Ranelle pursed her lips for a
moment before answering, "Uh... I don't mean that the way it sounded. Not gambling
or anything... they race horses... Standardbred and thoroughbred. They're really
successful at it, I just don't have any interest. I mean, I grew up around it
sure, and I have an appreciation for all the work that goes into getting a horse
ready to race and actually winning.. but I just...." She paused, not sure what
she wanted to say.

"You wouldn't be happy doing
that for the rest of your working life."

"Yeah... I wanna love what I
do and I do love computers and design."

The officers head nodded. "I
know what you mean and you'll be glad ten years down the road that you stood
up for what you wanted.. too many people let themselves fall into that trap
and end up hating their lives."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"So you all still get along?"

"Oh, sure. We may not talk all
the time but we send cards and stuff at the holidays and if I showed up on the
doorstep they'd invite me in with open arms. I kinda gained another family with
Uncle Amark...he's like a second father and I think my parents are glad that
he's here for me when they're so far away. Everything worked out real well in
the end, I think."

They sat in silence, finishing
off their food for several minutes.

The comfortable silence was finally
broken with Dean opening up the conversation again. "You know I've been
thinking a lot about how you said, you thought people at the base were stonewalling
you."

"And?" Ranelle sat
up straighter, her interest piqued.

"Well, what kind of stuff
did you request."

"Um, files on the operation
in the Middle East and any pertaining to it, and your personnel file, along
with one's for the other men who survived."

"Did you get it?"

"Which one. Yes and no.
I was sent information on the operation but not the real file. I was told that
the things in it were still highly sensitive. When I asked about your file,
I couldn't even get someone to consider releasing it."

"Wait, you couldn't get
anything on me?"

"Nothing."

"Not even the year I enlisted,
or dates of promotions.....anything?"

"Nope, nothing. I received
a few progress reports on you, but none of the operations you were involved
in, places you were stationed at, no promotions or any personal information.
Just the reports. If I hadn't gotten those I would have started to think that
you didn't exist! "

"What about the other men's
files?"

Hesitation.

"Ranelle?"

Ranelle looked up and nodded.
"Yeah, I got 'em."

"That...well that's just
weird. Why theirs and not mine?" It was rhetorical, and the researcher
wisely kept her mouth shut. "Did you get clearance for the files?"

"Oh, yeah. I spent a hour
and a half on the phone getting bumped up to all these different guys. I eventually
was told by Admiral something that Admiral someone cleared me. And then I can't
get a simple personnel file! That ticked me off."

"Ranelle," Dean turned
serious eyes on the researcher, "you should have at least been given my
common info. over the phone. I mean, age, date of birth, enlisting date and
such." Dean shook her head. "They wouldn't have sent you my entire
file, but you should have been told that if you went to the base that you would
be given access to it. Somehting isn't right."

The women sat on the couch pondering
the possibility that maybe something more was going on with this failed mission.
"Someone is hiding something." Dean's voice was low, and it held an
intense angry tone. Ranelle sucked in a breath on hearing it, picking up dangerous
waves flowing from the officer. "We're going down there to look at all
those files." It was a statement, strong and true.

"We?"

"Definitely, we. They won't
give you any crap if I'm there, and if something is going on involving me and
the ME mission, I wanna know about it."

Ranelle nodded. "Okay, when?"

Dean cocked her head. "Anytime
next week, preferably on Wednesday. Hopefully we could be back by Friday."

"Why Wednesday?"

"Because Monday is always
crazy, they never take you seriously on the weekend, and Wednesday is usually
only mildly busy. Do you have anything you need to do?"

"Are you kidding?! This
is the only thing my uncle wants me to even think about until I get it all figured
out. He said and I quote 'Ranelle, this here is very important. It could help
you and the magazine a lot. Besides school it's the only thing I want you to
even think about.' Uncle Amark won't have a problem with me leaving town."
Thinking for a moment, Ranelle scrunched her eyebrows up and then posed a question.
"Um, Dean, where exactly do we have to go?"

"It's a base in San Diego,
California. Why?"

"Just wondering."

There was a lull in the conversation,
the figures sat in the dim light from a few candles scattered around the room.
Each buried deep in their own thoughts. The storm still raged on outside, the
angry rain thundering against the walls of the large house. Thunder would boom
into the night and the window panes shook. "What do I need to do?"
Ranelle's voice was so sudden that Dean would have jumped upon hearing it if
she hadn't had as tight control over her body and it's reactions as she did.

"Nothing. Just make any
arrangements, pack a bag, and meet me at the airport on Wednesday."

"Okay, that's" a yawn
broke her speech momentarily, "fine."

"You tired? Come on, it's
getting late." Dean stood, a little bit unsteadily and looked at her watch.
She noted that it was quickly approaching midnight. Extending a hand, the Naval
officer pulled up as it was accepted. "You can sleep up in the loft."

"Loft?"

"It's not what it sounds
like." The smile was evident in Dean's voice. "This house doesn't
really have an upstairs. Just a few staircases that take you to a tiny hallway
with one or two doors, maybe one giant room." They stopped in the hallway
that Dean had first ventured down when they had arrived. Dean pointed. Ranelle
looked and saw a spiral staircase tucked behind the space created by the wall
moving outwards for about a foot and then going back into a straight line. "First
door on the right. I'd show you but if I made it up the stairs I wouldn't be
coming back down."

"No problem."

"The bathroom is down this
hallway, second on the right. My room is at the end. 'Kay?"

Ranelle nodded and moved over
to the staircase, ascending it to fall exhausted into the soft bed provided.

Dean watched her go, then turned
back around and shuffled into the living room. Extinguishing the candles, the
officer turned again and proceeded blindly down the hall toward her room. Giving
one last glance at the dark space she knew the staircase to be, Dean sighed
and entered her room.

*****************

Opening her eyes, Ranelle experienced
a brief moment of panic from not recognizing where she was. Then, the events
of the last few days came to the forefront of her mind and Ranelle smiled upon
remembering Dean.

Ranelle's forehead creased as
she looked at her watch and noted that it was quarter to six. In the morning.
Something had woken her up, that much Ranelle knew, because she never got up
this early. At least not willingly.

Sitting up from her comfortable
nest and looking out the window she noticed that the rain had stopped. Standing
up, Ranelle paused in her trek to the door when she heard it.

A thumping noise... and.... cursing.

Very colorful, inventive cursing.

Fearing the reason that Dean
would have for spewing such language so early in the morning, Ranelle went flying
out the door, down the stairs, and skidding around the corner of the hallway.
As she got nearer the door at the end of the hallway, Dean's voice became even
more distinctive.

Not wanting to just barge in,
Ranelle spoke, "Dean, you all right?"

"Ranelle?"

"Yes?"

"Could you come in here,
please, and give me a hand?"

"Sure." Ranelle opened
the door and walked into the room. "What happened?" Ranelle took three
quick steps and kneeled down at Dean's side. The officer was sitting on the
ground, about four steps from her bed and had a very annoyed, angry look on
her face.

"What do you think? I fell."
It came out harsher than she had intended, and Dean winced at seeing the hurt
on Ranelle's face. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I just...everything
was actually going well. With this." Dean gestured at her legs. "Nothing
like this has happened since the first month of therapy in the hospital, and
now I'm falling flat on my face."

Dean smiled. Ranelle smiled.
"Good, now, give me a hand up and we'll see how bad this really is."

Ranelle stood and helped Dean
to get her feet underneath herself. She was a bit shaky, the muscles not wanting
to support the weight put on them, but they held. Ranelle quickly grabbed the
cane from the floor once she was sure Dean wouldn't fall over and placed it
into the officer's left hand.

Taking a few tentative steps
with Ranelle standing at her right should Dean falter, the duo made steady progress
into the hallway. Half-way to the kitchen, Dean felt her legs start to shake
a little and weaken. She instinctively moved over to the left and ended up leaning
against the wall instead of on the floor. Ranelle had seen it happen and taken
a gentle hold of Dean's arm. It wouldn't have done much good, since the young
woman was sure that Dean's superior weight would have brought them both to the
floor.

As she leaned against the wall,
her eyes closed a look of resignation came over her face. Ranelle saw that,
too. "Hey Dean, come on. Let's keep going, it isn't that bad. You're muscles
are just stiff and strained. It'll be fine." Ranlle sighed as she noticed
that her words hadn't seemed to get through. "Dean come on, you can't give
up. You've been doing so well I won't let you stop trying now. Come on."

Ranelle pulled on the arm in
her grasp and, to her great surprise, Dean straightened. Nodding her head slightly,
the officer turned and looked down at Ranelle. She smiled her thanks and inclined
her head toward the kitchen in silent communication. Ranelle nodded as well
and they continued.

Getting themselves settled, Ranelle
once again took up her exploration of the cupboards with light. After finding
an appropriate amount of food, they sat. The thing called conversation soon
reared its ugly head and broke the stillness of the room. "What do you
think that guy in the parking lot wanted?"

Dean looked up from her bagel
and took a moment to compose her thoughts. "Well, I don't think he was
trying to rob you."

"Why?"

"Because even though he
didn't have a whole lot of time uninterrupted, he did have enough to ask for
money or try and grab your bag. Muggers get right to the point. He didn't even
open his mouth. Besides, if it were you, would you have gone and robbed someone
who was walking around with someone who looked like me?"

Ranelle stared at Dean for a
moment, processing what had been said. "Uh, I guess not."

"Secondly, his knife was
a switchblade."

"Yeah. So."

"Have you actually ever
tried to do anything with one of those?"

"No."

"Well, that guy had it at
your throat, and those are the worst things you could possibly choose to slit
someone's throat with. Or even make the threat of doing that. They're only good
for two things."

"Which are."

Dean looked up from her food.
"Stabbing someone in the gut and cutting your own finger off." Ranelle
flinched. Dean shrugged upon seeing her reaction. "Besides, the blade was
really dull. I mean really dull. You wouldn't be able to stab that thing into
a bale of hay to save your life."

"Oh. So?"

"He was probably trying
to scare you away from something."

"Like what?"

Dean shrugged. "Could be
anything, but then again what are you suddenly involved in that you weren't
before. Besides this."

Ranelle sucked in a breath and
exhaled loudly. "But why? Who? How do you know it wasn't random?"

"Again, his knife was too
dull to do any really serious harm and would you have attacked if your target
was walking with me? As to who, if someone in San Diego is running you in circles
to keep something hidden, they had more than enough time to set something like
this up."

"Someone in the Navy, you
mean?"

"Yeah."

"Dean, that's a.... a really
scary thought."

"I guess it is, but whoever
it is, is as dumb as they come."

"Why?" Ranelle looked
warily at Dean, catching that same dangerous tone that had been present just
last night.

"For going up against me."
Dean looked over at Ranelle and looked into her eyes. Immediately, her growing
anger subsided and lessened, still present but not quite as strong. Those eyes
seemed to be able to calm and relax her, their depths ringing a familiar cord
within Dean's being.

The two women fell silent and
gradually moved into the living room, the trip being slightly less difficult
for Dean than the one into the kitchen. And they found themselves doing what
most new acquaintances, or old friends, often do to pass time. Talking about
nothing, and yet, everything.

The women sat for hours discussing
trivial things and not so trivial things. The weather, Ranelle's schooling,
Dean's company, their plans for going to San Diego, and everything and anything
in between.

Consequently, they found themselves
relaxing around each other and releasing those little, silly, rather stupid
facts and stories about themselves. The types of things that a passing colleague
would never have cause to know. The kind of things that make someone a friend.

Eventually, the conversation
found its way back to the reason for their initial meeting, as they both knew
it would. "Tell me about the unit. Not what you guys were doing over there,
but its history and stuff."

Dean shifted her eyes from the
window in front of her and looked at Ranelle. Shifting her position so that
she was sitting sideways on the couch, Ranelle did the same, and they found
themselves facing each other. Dean nodded.

"Okay, well, the unit was
formed in '94 by Admiral Jason Cooper. He went out and chose the men for the
unit, strictly the best. Not in any particular field, either, everyone he chose
had to be really good in at least three different things. It didn't matter,
he just wanted to make sure that there was more than one person in the team
that had a lot of knowledge about one subject."

Ranelle looked slightly confused,
so the officer stopped for a moment and gathered her thoughts. "Think about
it this way. If you have one expert with explosives and everyone else is, not
totally dumb when it comes to using them, but slow and unsure, and your main
objective is to blow something up... what are you gonna do if he's killed? Not
a whole hell of a lot. You're SOL."

"Huh?"

"Shit-outta-luck."

"Oh."

Dean smiled. "Anyway, after
he gathered up his big group of special men the brilliant Admiral Cooper realized
that he didn't have anyone to lead his best of the best. So, he went and perused
the personnel files and came up with me. Someone like myself who was really
good at most everything they did in the Navy and learned quickly would be bounced
all over the place and get experience in almost everything. I guess it was a
realistic choice. Someone who could lead and the men wouldn't mind following.
And someone who could pretty much do the job of any man in the unit. I've had
control of the unit for its entire 6 years in operation. We have pretty much
been on the constant move since then. Finish off one assignment, come back for
maybe a few days rest, then get shipped off again."

"Wow, that sounds really
busy. I don't know if I'd be able to live like that." The researcher had
a mild look of disbelief on her face.

"You'd only think that if
you didn't want to be doing it. We all wanted to live like that, joining the
unit was our choice, as was staying in it. I don't regret it."

"Even after this?"
Ranelle gestured down at Dean's legs and raised her eyes with a questioning
look.

"Nope, not even after this.
It's what I live for, Ranelle, and it's the only thing I've ever known. So no,
not a single regret. Not for me. I do regret losing my men, and when things
went bad out in the field. But that's it."

Ranelle nodded, not quite understanding
how anyone could put their lives on the line daily for their job. Risk life
and limb constantly for strangers and a country that would probably never acknowledge
their bravery, courage, and dedication. She didn't expect that she would ever
really understand, not totally, not if she spent the rest of her life trying
to. She figured that it might come from a need to help people and a desire to
know that you are doing something positive with your existence.

'Ok Ranelle, you can stop thinking
right now. You're starting to get just a little bit too deep and it's still
way too early for that.'

As the silence fell over them
again Ranelle started looking around her and realized that she was sitting in
a gorgeous house. They were currently in the living room, which housed a sofa,
love seat, two comfy looking armchairs and an oak coffee table in the middle.
They were sitting on the sofa which faced the wall on the front of the house.
Which was taken up by a huge window that gave you a view of the driveway, lined
by the large majestic trees of the night before. The sun shone through the canopy
of trees and made interesting patterns on the ground, Ranelle could tell from
where she was sitting. There was a large TV and complete entertainment center
to their right, looking abandoned and unused. In the back of the large room,
a lone door sat, closed at the moment.

Judging by the spaciousness of
the kitchen and living room, with their vaulted ceilings and excess floor space,
Ranelle decided that this was a rather large house. She figured that it made
up for having no second floor by being exceptionally large on the main floor.
The blatant disregard of not conserving space just helped to strengthen her
assumption.

Dean noticed that her blonde
companion had taken to looking around with wide, interested eyes, as most people
did when they were new to the house. Still, she couldn't understand why, really,
it was just a house. A space enclosed by walls and a roof. Dean hadn't been
consumed with the awe that seemed to affect all her very few visitors, and it
hadn't even been her house originally. It was now, she supposed, but the officer
would never get used to thinking about it that way. It had been willed to her
by her grandfather 10 years ago, a man she had hardly known, and she was just
now living in it.

Dean had grown up with her father
in the Navy, always moving around from place to place. She had never had a real,
permanent home, and had decided that she would make the Navy her career since
that had been all she knew. The life had appealed to her, getting sent all over
the world, granted, to do things that most people wouldn't be able to handle,
and not have much enjoyment, but settling had never been on Dean's list of things
to do in life. And when she took her vacation time - well, her superior often
had to force her to actually leave the base - but when she did, Dean had hardly
ever gone to the place her family had told her was 'home'. With them. And once
things had started unraveling on that front, it became one less thing to keep
her from doing what she wanted. 'Home' became just a word with no real meaning
to her. Wherever Dean was became her temporary home.

Getting on a bus and just going.
The wanderers life. Living out of motels, traveling and seeing the one place
her job had never taken her. Her own country. Being able to wake up one morning
in California and deciding to go to Colorado or Oregon or Tenesse,
just because she could. There was nothing holding her back, keeping her in one
place when her time was her own.

So Dean came to the conclusion
that the wonder people felt when looking at the house occurred from a lifetime
of living in only one or two different buildings. Having friends with a home
different than yours, and spending your childhood placing a lot of importance
on the place that held you worldly possessions. Just because you spent a large
portion of your life there, and the fact that it did hold everything that you
had accumulated in that life so far, these buildings called houses gained more
importance to most everyone.

Mentally shrugging, Dean decided
that it didn't really matter, even if she could understand. "Go ahead and
look around if you want." Dean's voice brought Ranelle out of her visual
tour and centered her attention on the woman sitting on the couch. "Go,"
the officer gestured, "explore, make yourself at home. You'll probably
be spending a lot of time here if you want the story. I'd take you but...."

Ranelle smiled, "You sure
you don't mind?"

"Absolutely."

"Thanks!" Ranelle grinned
brilliantly at the officer and started tentatively moving out into the main
hallway. Dean just shook her head and settled into the couch to wait.

It instantly became obvious to
Ranelle that while the house was magnificent, with hardwood floors, rich colored
carpets, high ceilings, and furniture that Ranelle swore were antiques, it didn't
look very lived in. Sure, from what she had seen of Dean's room, there was an
odd photo or two, she figured of Rachel and David, and some clothes scattered
around the bedroom-- although not a lot-- everything else seemed... empty.

So far she had come across a
large dining room with a huge table that could probably sit 20 or so people,
with a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There was a china cabinet along
one end of the room that held delicate looking dishes of all shapes and sizes.

Two spare bedrooms that were
well furnished but still bare looking. Ranelle had also noticed that the kitchen
didn't looked very used and even the living room where she had left Dean sitting
was devoid of any of the mess that people often made just by being there.

Walking down yet another hallway
off the main one, Ranelle took in the paintings hanging from the walls of the
wide hallway. Besides those and the occasional door, there was nothing else
in the corridor. Approaching an open door, Ranelle peeked in and saw a workout
room. It was one of the largest rooms in the house, and it was filled with weight
machines, a stationary bike, treadmill, free weights, and other various machines.

Ducking out of the room, Ranelle
continued down the hallway. She ended up at something resembling a 'T' intersection,
with the choice to go right or left. Idly, Ranelle considered the very real
possibility of getting lost. There seemed to be a lot of large rooms in the
house, each with several doors in them that led to a series of hallways that
connected everything together. Already, the researcher had no idea which doors
she had gone through and in which room they had resided.

Smiling, Ranelle decided she
would worry about getting back to the main part of the house later and promptly
turned left where a stream of sunlight was coming from and lighting up the wooden
floor, seeming to make it shine.

Ranelle followed the hallway
as it turned to the right and gasped as she came upon large windows that were
letting in the sun. Outside, there were a large clump of trees that seemed to
reach high into the heavens, a large expanse of clear sky visible above them,
and Ranelle imagined what it would look like at night. The stars would easily
be seen over the treetops while the trees themselves would seem to reach up
toward the twinkling objects, begging then to come down from their perch and
play.

Shaking off her thoughts, Ranelle
resolved to come back here one night and see if the real thing compared to her
imagination. "I'll bring Dean with me, she probably doesn't even know it's
here."

Nodding, the young woman continued
down the hallway and soon found herself standing in a large circular room with
absolutely nothing in it.

Except another spiraling, metallic
staircase.

"Well, only one way to go...
up." Moving towards it, Ranelle started her ascension, hoping that it wouldn't
lead her to another boring bedroom, and somehow knowing that it wouldn't. When
she reached the landing, Ranelle was immediately faced with another open door.
She stepped through and sucked in an astonished breath.

Firstly, the room was huge. No,
that didn't cover it... it was a mammoth room. It looked, roughly, to be a rectangle
sitting on a circular base. The dimensions could have been anywhere from 35x60
feet to 70x100 feet. But that wasn't all... every single wall was lined with
a table that only stopped when room for a cabinet was needed. The center of
the room had a large table in it, with nothing on its surface and an extra lamp
hanging above it. The walls above the tables were, well, they weren't really
walls, but windows.

Ranelle moved over to one of
the windows and received her second shock. While the room was a rectangle and
built on a cylinder, it was left so there would have been no roof, with the
real walls coming up to about Ranelle's waist. Another wall was built around
the outside, in the shape of a circle, completely of glass.

The room itself contained computers.
Lots of computers, at least five, all along on wall, with the other three taken
up with electronics, tools, paper, pens, manuals of some sort, and any other
device that any computer tech or geek would love to own. Ranelle had never,
outside of computer stores, seen so many computers and parts to computers lying
around. She could also tell that Dean actually spent time here. There was the
odd glass or plate sitting around on cleared spaces, and the researcher figured
that Dean spent a lot of her free time here.

Moving back to the door, Ranelle
turned, took one last look, shook her head, and went down the stairs to find
her way back to Dean.

****************

Scott had set out that morning
and pulled into Dean's driveway just after 10. As he climbed out of his Mercedes
and looked around the yard, he decided that it hadn't changed since the last
time he had been here, over six years ago, when Dean had actually come back
to Texas for her vacation.

He still couldn't get over how
different and interesting this house was. It seemed to mix features and details
of older buildings with more creative modern ideas, creating a unique building
the likes of which he had never seen before. Scott knew that he had not been
in all the different rooms and hallway's, and he wondered if Dean had. As far
as he knew, his friend hadn't spent a lot of time in the building, actually,
outside of that vacation she had taken here, he didn't think Dean had been in
it again before now.

Moving up to the door Scott took
in the SUV parked haphazardly in front of the door and wondered what that was
all about. Shrugging, he moved up to the aged pinewood door and knocked using
the heavy brass knocker.

Knowing that Dean would have
been up long ago he started wondering what was up when the door wasn't answered.
He knocked again and waited. Nothing happened. Just as he was about to use the
spare key he had been given long ago so he could keep the house and yard decent
looking, the wooden portal opened.

Scott entered the house took
one look at Dean and became instantly suspicious. Here it was 10:15 in the morning
and his friend was standing before him still dressed in her pajamas. "Uh,
hi Dean."

"Hey Scott. Sorry, I forgot
you were coming."

"Yeah, okay, but what's
up?"

"Huh?" Scott simply
raised his eyebrows and meaningfully ran his eyes up and down Dean's long frame.
"Oh, I'll tell you about it in a minute, but I gotta sit down." Closing
the door and turning back to the living room, Scott followed closely and was
just in time to catch Dean's arm and steady her as the taller woman faltered.

"Hey, come on, sit down."
Scott's voice reflected his worry and he quickly helped get his friend seated
on the couch. Sitting beside her he turned his greeny gray eyes upon Dean. She
instantly saw the concern in them. "Now, what's up?"

Sighing, Dean knew she wouldn't
get out of this and quickly and efficiently sketched out what had happened.
Starting with the message on her machine Friday night, introducing Ranelle and
saying that she really wanted to meet the officer, and if it was convenient
she would be at the Rainstep that evening. Dean's quick narrative included her
and Ranelle's suspicions and feelings and covered the time up until the young
golden-haired woman had gone exploring.

"Wow, Dean, that's all sort
of scary."

"I guess."

"So you're going to San
Diego on Wednesday?"

"Yep." Scott nodded
and any further conversation was delayed by the sound of a door opening behind
them and a satisfied yelp of victory. The occupants of the couch turned to see
Ranelle standing just inside the living room, a large smile covering her face.

"Hey, you have an amazing
house here. I was afraid I wouldn't find my way back here." Ranelle started
talking as she made her way to the couch and seemed to notice Scott for the
first time. "Oh, sorry. I'm Ranelle." She stuck out her hand as Scott
stood and grasped it.

"Scott."

"Oh, cool, it's great to
meet you." Ranelle smiled as she started assessing him as she always did
whenever meeting someone for the first time. He stood about an inch taller than
her own five feet and four inches, with incredibly blonde hair that looked almost
white. His eyes were an interesting green and gray and his snub nose and boyish
good looks caused Ranelle to classify him as 'cute.' Someone who would always
look young and just have that baby cute look to them. Ranelle was getting good
vibes and decided that she was going to like this friend of Dean's.

"It's great to meet me?"
Scott had a slight smirk and there was a teasing tone to his voice.

"Oh, yeah. Dean mentioned
that you were a good friend and ever since I wanted to meet you."

He nodded, "I see."

The trio soon found themselves
sitting around the living room, Scott and Dean reminiscing about their childhood
spent together and Ranelle listened avidly, glad beyond reason that she was
getting to hear about Dean's childhood and getting an idea about how Scott saw
her.

While Dean had moved around a
lot as a child in the eight years that her father had been in the Navy in the
states, the time the two kids did have together was well spent and their budding
friendship withstood all the moving about. Then, Dean's father retired after
20 years in the service and had managed to make quite a name for himself in
that time. Then he started the company with his partner Maurice Stoisfield and
the family settled into Austin, Texas for good.

By the time Malcom had retired,
Dean had already been in the service for a year. For the last year of High School,
Dean had stayed permanently in Dallas where Scott's family had moved, living
with them, and actually spending an entire year in one spot. That, in itself,
was one of the largest deciding factors behind Dean's decision to make the Navy
her career. She went stir crazy, and in that time Dean had the passing thought,
more than once, that if she didn't move around she would truly go mad.

On her part, the choice to stay
in Dallas for the last year had three reasons. Even then, things between her
and her family were getting strained and she did it to get away from them and
piss her father off. It worked, on both counts. Dean also used the time to strengthen
her friendship with Scott, and that was when their bond evolved into the realm
of something that would last their entire lives. Thirdly, and this she had not
told anyone, Dean used it as a test. To see if she could live as a civilian.
She couldn't. It was as simple as that.

Ranelle soaked up all this information
as it was uncovered and gleefully listened to the stories of childhood mischief,
dislodging a few tales of her own upon prodding from both Dean and Scott. They
weren't quite as outrageous and wild as the lifelong friend's were, but Ranelle
and her siblings had managed to get into some sticky situations.

Noon quickly rolled around and
Scott announced that he had to get back to the store and finish up a few matters
that needed to be taken care of before they opened again for the start of a
new week. Seeing as it was lunch time and there was almost no food in the house,
Ranelle and Dean decided to go out for lunch.

The trio left the house together
and bundled into their respective vehicles after Scott extracted a promise from
Dean for her to call him when they got back from San Diego. After the short
drive into the more populated area of the city, the inevitable and dreaded question
was asked. "Where do you want to eat?"

"Huh." Ranelle looked
over at Dean, taking her eyes off the road for a moment. "Oh, I don't care.
Why don't we just go to Hego's? We both like it, the service and food is good,
and it's close." Dean nodded her acceptance of the destination and Ranelle
quickly angled the car in the proper direction.

They arrived at the cafe/diner
in short order and carefully climbed out of the high car and headed into the
well kept building. The women were immediately met by a perky, smiling waitress.
"Well, I was wondering how long it was going to be before the two of you
showed up again. Personally, I thought it would be tomorrow at the earliest."
Stacey ran her eyes down Dean's incredibly tall form and then looked over at
Ranelle. "Oh, girl, what did you do?!"

"Huh?" Ranelle was
obviously confused by this question. She quickly remembered, however, when Stacey
stepped forward and lightly touched the cut on her forehead. "Oh, it's
nothing Stacey. We just had a little problem in the parking lot last night.
I'm fine."

"Whatever you say, Ranelle.
So, where would you like to sit?" Stacey turned to look at the two of them
and suddenly broke out into a full smile, snickering slightly.

"What?" Ranelle's voice
was laced with confusion and curiosity, wondering what her friend could be laughing
at. Dean, for her part, just looked mildly amused and said nothing. "What??"

"Nothing, it's nothing,
Ranelle. I'm sorry."

Ranelle snorted, "No you're
not."

Stacey finally lost the rest
of her control and burst out laughing at the look on Ranelle's face, which was
a curious mix of indignation, annoyance, and affection for her friend. As the
waitress wound down and regained control, she looked over at the silent Naval
officer to see quizzical blue eyes upon her, and a faint smirk tugging at the
corners of her mouth.

It was Stacey's turn to pose
the question, "What?"

"Don't you ever not work?"
The curly-haired woman attempted to answer, her mouth moving several times,
but nothing came out. "You always seem to be around, everywhere,"
Dean continued, "it's kinda disconcerting." Dean then smiled, nodded
toward a table at the back of the restaurant and moved off toward it, leaving
behind a sputtering waitress and a grinning Ranelle.

The duo sat and waited for Stacey
to regain her composure. She finally did and meandered over to take their order.
They ate and maintained light, nonsense conversation, until Stacey joined them
on her break. It then became Dean's turn to hear stories of Ranelle's nights
out on the town with friends and get to know this woman who was obviously someone
important in the golden-haired woman's life.

The waitress decided that she
would like this tall Navy woman and considered the possibility of having found
a friend in the woman. To Stacey's eyes, it was obvious that in the three days
since they had met, Ranelle and the officer had started to become friends. Good
friends in the making. She smiled at this, thinking that Ranelle didn't have
that many people in her life that she could call that. It basically consisted
of herself, Amanda, Brock, and perhaps her uncle. Stacey also decided that perhaps
another friend was also what Dean needed, and if that was the case, then she
couldn't have found a better choice than Ranelle.

Brought back from her musings
after hearing her name, Stacey focused on Ranelle who was looking at her and
asking a question. "Seriously, Stace, I wanna know what you were laughing
at." The waitress turned brown eyes to blue, having the feeling that Dean
had a pretty good idea about what had transpired when they had first entered.

Stacey grinned, correct in her
assumption that the officer had caught on. "Yeah, come one." All three
women stood, Dean shuffling her cane around to her left hand and moving after
the waitress.

They arrived in the back room
for staff and she mutely pointed toward the requested mirror that ran the entire
length of the wall. "Go stand in front of that," Dean said.

"Bu.."

"Ranelle, do you wanna know?
Go over there." Ranelle moved over and stood, staring dumbly at her reflection.

"Okay, now what?"

She was silenced as Dean came
up behind her and stood. Slowly, a smile broke out across her fair features,
and soon Ranelle ended up laughing and bent over, holding her stomach. Their
reflection was nothing short of comical. Besides the fact that they looked as
different as night and day, Dean towered over her by more than a foot and she
couldn't help thinking that she looked tiny. Besides her height, Dean's muscularity
added to her considerable bulk, cutting a distinctive and intimidating figure.

Stacey had started laughing again,
seeing them standing one in front of the other and their reflection. Even Dean
was grinning, but not from the image-- no, she was used to people looking at
her funny because of her height, used to almost always being the tallest person
in a room, used to people on the street giving her a wide berth, thinking that
she was a danger, used to bending her head down to see people and speak to them--
Dean was simply smiling because laughter is infectious, and although she wasn't
going to break down like the other two, Dean would allow a real, full smile.

When the two friends finally
managed to stop laughing it took another few moments for them to stop gasping
for breath before either of them could speak. Stacey moved over to Dean and
stood right in front of her, craning her neck way up to see her face. "Wow,"
was all she said.

"Yeah, wow." Ranelle
added her two cents and then moved over beside Dean, too. "I guess I never
quite realized it until I saw your height compared to mine. Although, I guess
I should have clued in when I kept noticing you ducking your head to go through
doors. Just how tall are you?"

Dean sniffed, then answered,
"Just under 6' 5". Barefoot."

"What about the rest of
your family?" Stacey chimed in. "Did everyone end up really tall?"

"Nope. My mother is about
Ranelle's size. My dad's just under six foot. All my siblings are shorter than
me. David comes the closest, around 6' 1". And....the shortest is Rachel
at 5' 6"."

"Man, that's kind of weird.
So where does you height come from?" Stacey inquired.

"I haven't a clue."

The trio moved back into the
main room and spent another 10 minutes lounging around, which Ranelle took to
inform Stacey of her plans to go to San Diego on Wednesday. Stacey amiably agreed
to look after her cat and collect mail, just the normal little chores. They
left, then, with Ranelle asking Dean to drop her off at the magazine office
to pick up her car. Dean agreed, after considerable debate.

"Ranelle," they were
sitting in the parking lot, a few feet from where they had been attacked, "I
want you to be careful when you're alone, especially at night. Okay?"

"Yeah, I will be. I don't
plan on staying at the office late very much until we get this cleared up. And
once Wednesday rolls around, I'll be with you." Ranelle finished with a
large grin. Dean returned it. "So, are you going to take care of the tickets
and stuff?"

"Yep, I have to go out for
therapy tomorrow, pick up my glasses, I'll add plane tickets to the list. Don't
worry about it, all you have to do is be at the airport."

"Gotcha." Ranelle sat
staring out the car window for a moment, thinking. As she turned, the young
woman caught Dean with a mildly introspective look adorning her features. She
waited until the look passed, not wanting to interrupt any important thoughts.
"Alrighty, then. I guess I'll see you on Wednesday, if not before."

"Yep, I'll give you a call
with the flight info tomorrow."

"Sure. And, Dean?"
The dark head turned and indigo eyes latched onto hers. "I hope it goes
well with the therapist." Dean's face registered shock for a moment before
it returned to its regular mild indifference, but Ranelle caught the faint gleam
of thanks and appreciation in her eyes, as Dean knew she would.

Nodding once, Ranelle climbed
out of the car. As she turned back to look at the officer one last time, Dean
inclined her head regally, in lieu of words. Ranelle, at a loss and not quite
sure what to make of this interesting figure, smiled, and closed the door.

She stood and watched as the
large Nissan reversed and merged with the traffic, returning its owner to her
solitude. Shaking her head, the researcher decided that Dean was starting to
have an effect on her. And it didn't bother her in the least.